“But it’s not what we’re looking for.”
I close my mouth. “Of course not. I understand.”
“But we like your creativity. And your vision. We like how you’re obviously a global-minded thinker.” A man in a golf polo nods his head. “Exactly what we’re looking for.”
“I think that about covers it,” Mr. Torkelson says. “The show will be much like the one you’re leaving. Same focus—but now you’ll be in charge. The job starts next week. What do you think?”
I think about how soon I can change into sweats. “It will be an honor to work for you.” I reach out my hand and shake his. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“Flight 1085 to Dallas–Ft. Worth has been cancelled. If you would like to make your way to the ticket desk, we will be glad to assist you with getting a later flight.”
“Great.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and get in line. At least I have a romance novel, a movie on my iPod, my Bible, and a People magazine. And an outside zipper pocket of enough Jolly Ranchers to do some serious harm to my blood sugar.
Three hours, two Starbucks, and one Happy Meal later, I buckle myself into seat 16A. I take out my People and slip on my headphones.
I barely glance up as the woman sits down beside me. She stands on tiptoes to shove her carry-on into the overhead compartment. Casting furtive glances all around, her lips moving as if talking to herself. Oh, fabulous. It’s like I couldn’t escape crazy if I tried.
I slide my legs over to the side so she can move to her seat.
She taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”
I pop out one earbud. “Yes?”
She points to the window. “Would you mind—that is, would you consider trading me seats?” She fumbles with the chain around her neck.
“Sure.” Just leave me alone. I scooch down, taking my backpack with me. Man, I cannot wait to get back home. I miss Riley. Round trip to California in one day is exhausting.
Connor’s words come back to replay in my mind. Surrender, he said. I surrender plenty. I’ve stayed in Ivy far longer than I intended. I got to know my niece and have provided a caregiver for her. I’ve got someone coming in for my dad for the next few weeks. And I reconnected with Beth.
God, everything’s perfectly lined up. The new job. The nanny. Even got some closure from my dad. I can leave Riley with all my loose ends tied neatly in a bow. Then why do I feel like I ate a bad cheeseburger?
“I’m afraid to fly,” the woman says beside me.
I give her a thin-lipped smile. “You’ll be fine.” As long as you leave me to my magazine and don’t expect me to hold your hand.
“I’m Jane, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.” I don’t even bother giving her my name. You know, it’s like the elevator. Just because you’re shoulder-to-shoulder doesn’t mean you strike up a conversation. It’s one thing to say, “Can you let me out to pee?” It’s quite another to give someone your life story.
“I know you think I’m silly.”
The captain’s voice booms over the intercom and is so garbled it’s barely audible.
“If he just said something important, I sure didn’t catch it.” She wipes at her forehead with a tissue. “They need some better speakers on here, don’t you think? Maybe some surround sound? I don’t know whether he said the weather in Dallas is a nice seventy-eight or we’ll be flying with one engine.”
I find myself smiling. Jane’s not crazy. She’s just panicked. “I fly all the time. I’ll let you know when you need to use your seat as a flotation device.”
She snorts. “Skip that. I’ll grab the nearest man instead.” Jane reaches down and pulls a Bible out of her purse. “I see a Christian counselor for this little issue, and he gave me some scripture to pray over. Calm the nerves. Allay the fears.” She fluffs her salt-and- pepper hair. “What do you do that you fly so much?”
“I work for a travel channel. And as of today I work for National Geographic.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. That is something. Just got the job today, huh? You must be ready to burst with excitement.”
I flip a page of the magazine, my eyes glazing over an article on secret celebrity boob jobs. “I’m excited.”
Jane does a double take. “Now that didn’t sound very convincing.”
I shut the People and dig out some Jolly Ranchers. Passing one to her, I sigh. “Have you ever had a plan, and you followed that plan, and then things happened and you didn’t know if you wanted that plan anymore?”
Jane clutches the armrests as we hit the air, the plane bobbing as it struggles for balance. “Is that supposed to happen? I haven’t flown since I was twelve. That’s been forty years ago, and it was not a good experience. Somehow I’ve managed to avoid it ever since. Lots of car trips. Drives my husband nuts.” She pauses for a breath. “Now what were we talking about? Oh yes. Plans. This National Geographic job. Is this the good part of the plan or the part you don’t want?”
“It’s my dream job.” I pop a candy in my mouth. “Or it used to be. No, it is. It definitely is.” I can’t just quit my job and do independent documentaries, I can’t. I could fail. And then what would people say? What would I have? I have a pet rock to support.
Jane leans in. “If you knew this plane was going down—and if it does I will scream all the way to my Maker—but if you had minutes to live, what would you regret?”
“Not trying.” The words tumble from my lips, without thought. Defying logic.
Jane’s brows lift to her forehead. “Very good.” She swats my hand. “I’m channeling my therapist here, in case you didn’t know. Okay, so not try what?”
“It’s nothing. Forget I said it. Just a knee-jerk reaction.”
“Oh, honey. Those are the best kind. Keep talking—you’re minutes away from kissing the ground. Who would you think about? What would you want to say? And you can’t say ‘oh crap’ because I’ve already got dibs on that.”
“I’d . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’d want to live more fearlessly.”
Her mouth forms an O. “That is good. I like that. Me too.”
“I’d want to stick my toes in the ocean. And . . .” So many thoughts pound my brain. Memories whiz by like a movie on fast-forward. Voices overlap, faces fade in and out. “I’d want to redo it all. Start over and”—I inhale the stale cabin air—“be bold.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
I nod my head toward her Bible. “I get that God says to be fearless, but how? Knowing and doing are two separate things, you know? I tell myself not to be afraid, but what good does that do?”
Jane pulls the ribbon marker on her Bible and opens it up. “You know what my pastor says?”
I shake my head.
“He says that it’s okay to be fearful. That some of God’s strongest warriors were frightened. The difference between a believer and the rest of the world is that we press on. We can be shaking in our boots, but we don’t turn back. The hopeless—that’s what they do. They give up on their mortgage. They give up on the unemployment line. They don’t get on this plane. But I can sit here and know that my God saves. And no matter what I go through, if I keep pushing through, he’s there in the end. So, honey, having fear doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path. It just means you put on your helmet and your jersey and you plow right on through.”
My skin tingles as the thoughts take root in my brain.
“My pastor also said, ‘Jane, you get your butt on that plane.’ ”
This drags my attention back to the conversation. “Interesting pastor.”
She pats her hair again. “He’s also my husband. Good thing he’s hot. With a bossy attitude like that, a man wouldn’t get very many home-cooked meals.” She flips another page in her Bible. “I’ll let you get back to your iPod. I’m going to sit here and pray and panic. Then pray some more.”
“I think you’re very brave for being on this plane.”
She gives me a
shaky smile. “First air pocket we hit, I’ll probably pee my pants. But thank you. It will be worth it in the end. I’m going to visit my son and his wife. My first grandchild is due any day. I’m already feeling a little liberated.” She opens her candy. “And a bit queasy.”
A few minutes later, I return to my iPod and People. But my eyes wander over to Jane’s Bible. Her lips are moving again, and she fingers the cross dangling from the chain around her neck. She runs her hand over words line by line. The highlighted portion calls my attention, and I read it.
Isaiah Forty-three.
It’s the same passage from the sermon I heard that first Sunday in Beth’s church. I can hear the choir in my head, singing the verse aloud.
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you.
I have called you by your name; you are Mine.
I will be with you when you pass through the waters, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you.
You will not be scorched when you walk through the fire, and the flame will not burn you.
My heart stops when I come to the middle of verse four.
I love you.
The words loop in my mind. Repeat like they’re straight from heaven.
God, you love me? I don’t know how. Or why. But I want to love you back with all I’ve got. Connor’s so right. I haven’t surrendered it all. I sit there in church on Sundays and just go through the motions. I take up a seat. And give nothing back. You gave up everything. And I come to you with empty hands. No part of me. I’m tired of being in charge. I totally stink at it. Take my life. All of it. Redeem me. Claim me. Again.
“Honey?”
A hand closes over mine.
“Honey, are you okay?”
I hear Jane’s voice and realize I’m crying. Tears streaming down my face. “I want to create documentaries.” I rub my hand over my dripping nose. “I see children everywhere I go. And they have stories to tell. No voice of their own.” I grip her hand. “I want to tell those stories. I think God is telling me to do that. It’s not a hobby. And it is a risk, but I have to do this.”
“Well, praise the Lord you work for National Geographic now!” she beams.
“No. They think the idea sucks.”
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t matter. There has to be someone out there who will want to see my documentary.”
“You mean you already have it made?”
“And I want to stay with my niece. She needs me. She told me she loved me yesterday. And I can’t just weave in and out of her life when I can squeeze her in.”
Jane can only nod. Because now she’s sitting next to the crazy person.
“And then there’s Connor. I’ve never loved a man in my life.”
She shrugs. “Sometimes I doubt the sense of it myself.”
“But I walked out on him. Just threw it away. He just happened so fast, and it scared me. But I think it’s the real deal. He’s the real deal.”
“Is he cute?”
“Oh yes.”
“Even better.” She twists in her seat until she’s facing me. “Do you want me to pray for you?”
I can only nod, as I snot-cry right in front of a total stranger.
“God, we thank you for saving us. We thank you for your love that heals. And for being with us when we pass through those troubled waters . . .”
At Jane’s amen, we lift our heads. I laugh and search in my bag for a Kleenex. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
“Here you go.” She hands me a tissue. “And this.”
I hold her card in my hand.
“I want you to e-mail me and let me know how it all turns out.”
With my eyes, I plead with her to understand. To see the sanity beneath all the blubbering. “I know I sound insane.”
She grips my hand again. “Insane? Honey, this was better than Desperate Housewives and I’ll be dying to know how it ends.”
Peace whishes into my spirit as light as the clouds outside my window. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. We just killed thirty minutes in the air”—her smile is radiant—“and I’ve yet to tinkle in my pants.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
It’s ten-thirty when I pull into the house on Mockingbird Lane.
“I’m home,” I say as I turn off the car.
Stepping onto the porch, I run my hand over the railing, so in need of a paint job. Where my sister and I would run and jump off, pretending we were fairies. The step where I tripped as a four-year- old and knocked out my front tooth.
I find the front door unlocked and step inside, my heels clicking on the floor. “I’m home!”
The house is dark, except for a light at the top of the stairs. I’m sure Dad’s fast asleep. I make my way up the steps, my head spinning with all I have to tell Riley. And I have to call Passport to the World and tell them I’m quitting. Then explain to National Geographic why I won’t be taking the producer position. I have a decent nest egg. I can survive here in Ivy while I pursue my dreams. Like the documentary. And Connor Blake. And detoxing from all the candy.
I knock on Riley’s door and let myself in. “Riley? I have big news!” I flick on the lights.
But the room is empty. Except for the clothes strewn on the floor and Matilda, who runs to me and rests a mangled chew toy at my feet. I reach down and scratch her head.
I check the rest of the upstairs rooms, then holding the puppy, go back down. When I don’t find Riley in the kitchen or the backyard, worry sets in.
“Dad?” I tap on his door. “Dad, wake up.”
I flick on the lamp as he sits up. “What? What is it?” He shields his eyes from the light.
“Where’s Riley?”
He blinks and rubs his neck. “Upstairs. She sat in here and watched Nick at Night with me until nine. Then she went to bed.”
“Did you check on her? You know she went to bed?”
“Yes, yes. What’s wrong? What’s going on?” He throws off the covers, alarm sharpening his features.
“She’s not in the house.” I step back outside and call her name. Three times. Four. No answer.
“Maggie!” Dad yells, shuffling into the living room. “It’s Allison.” He holds up a piece of paper. “There was a note on the kitchen table.”
I wrench it from his hands.
You can’t keep me from Riley forever.
She’s my child. She belongs to me.
—Allison
“Allison must’ve used her key,” Dad says.
I grab a chair to keep from doubling over. “That day in the shed—Allison said you weren’t letting her see Riley.”
“I wasn’t. Allison was getting too unpredictable. Dangerous.”
“She told me she wanted to see Riley. That she would see her.”
Dad sinks into the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. His head falls into his hands. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
I set the puppy down. “What time did you go to bed?”
“Ten.”
“Did you go right to sleep?”
“I was out cold. I haven’t felt good all day. Mrs. Bittle left a little after nine.”
And this is the last thing he needs. I throw my bag on the ground and rip out my phone. I punch in the dreaded three numbers, 9-1-1.
“I need to report a missing child . . .”
My next call is not any easier. “Connor?”
His voice is clipped. “What do you need, Maggie?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Riley’s missing.”
“I’ll be at your dad’s in five minutes.”
I hang up and call Beth. Then Mrs. Bittle, and a few neighbors. Anyone I know who might’ve seen or heard anything.
But no one has.
“Maggie?”
I pace back and forth in the living room. “What?”
Dad rolls the tie of his robe in a ball. “Why don’t you, um . . . pray for Riley.”
Resting my hand over my galloping heart,
I nod. “Okay, Dad.” We sit on the couch together, and I hold his hand, and I give it all up to God. Because if there was ever a fire to walk through, this is it.
I run upstairs to change quickly into jeans and a T-shirt, and when I return two policemen sit in the living room talking to my dad. I watch the strain build in his shoulders and say another prayer for his heart. I give another officer all the information I have about my meeting that day with Allison.
Connor walks into the house without knocking. I run straight into his arms.
“What happened?” He smoothes my hair, my back. “What in the world is going on?”
I dash away tears and step back. “Riley’s missing. Allison has her.” I recite the note. “I don’t think Riley left voluntarily. She wouldn’t have gone off without Matilda.” I point to the dog curled up at Dad’s feet. “She takes that dog with her everywhere.”
“Okay.” His hands run up and down my arms. “We’ll get her back. We’ll find her.”
And I was doing so good with this fear thing. God, help me to not fall apart. I can’t stand this. Please bring Riley back. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of that little girl.
“Wait.” I rummage in my bag again. “I have the license plate number of Allison’s friend—or boyfriend.” Or dealer or whatever. “Here!” I hold it up like a gold medal.
Connor takes it and hands it to Officer Peyton. The policeman calls Connor by name, and somehow this makes me feel better. As the two talk quietly, I consider telling Connor about all of my revelations. That I want to be Riley’s guardian. That in all my awkwardness, I’m falling in love with him. And that he was right—I was running scared.
But now isn’t the time. He wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t have the energy to do anything else but focus on getting my niece back.
Ten minutes later, Officer Peyton hangs up his phone and gives Connor the latest update. Connor nods and joins my dad and me on the couch.
“I have a name and address. Bobby Driscoll.”
Dad nods. “She ran around with him a lot last year. Got into some trouble.”
“He’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Minor offenses.”
I close my eyes. I could’ve done without that piece of information. “Let’s go talk to him.”
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