by Karon Ruiz
“Look … I ... I don’t want to go to jail … please…”
Jeremy stopped typing and gave him an empathetic look. “As your friend, I’m asking you to come with us. Things might go easier if you do.”
Worry surged, drowning him in a pool of panic. This couldn’t be real.
“The path to freedom is truth,” Harold said. “Jesus told us that.” The old man’s tone brought Dalton’s anxiety down a notch. His words and tone seemed void of condemnation.
Martin’s voice softened. He gently placed a hand on Dalton’s shoulder. “Maybe your lawyer can ask the judge for a drug treatment program instead of prison.”
Prison? Lawyer? Treatment program? These were suggestions for a common criminal. Not him.
“Gene Snyder might help you,” Martin continued. “Maybe he’d represent you for a lower fee.”
“I don’t think he will.” Dalton gripped the arm of the wing chair and stared hard at the brown carpeting. In a very short time, Gene would learn about his mother’s prized tea kettle. He’d probably file more charges.
Harold gave him a fatherly look. “We’ve decided to stand with you as you go through this legal process. But with one condition. We need the truth. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?”
Nothing he’d like to tell them. But yes, there was more. All written in the ledger in his desk.
“I … borrowed funds from others.” He moistened his lips.
“From who?” Martin asked.
“From congregants.”
“You borrowed? Or you stole?” Brad’s tone sharpened on the last word.
Dalton frowned. “None of them know how I used their money. I intend to pay them back with interest. Please believe me, I’m not a thief. They were loans.”
“Who?” Martin repeated.
So he told them about Deidra loaning him four thousand dollars for the cooler repair. But it was hardly his fault that the repairs never happened. He’d needed the money for an emergency supply of pain pills. “The HVAC company couldn’t come right away. And I was in agony. I had no choice!” They had to believe him.
“What else?” Martin asked, not blinking.
He swallowed and confessed hocking a priceless heirloom from Winnie Snyder. “She believed it was for the Sunday school improvement fund.”
“I saw those cribs. They looked brand new,” Jeremy said, giving him a quizzical look.
“Almost new,” Dalton admitted. “I found them on Craig’s List. I located some whiteboards and other supplies from a liquidation sale.”
“So you bought used goods and passed them off as new?” Martin asked. “What’d you do with the rest of the money?”
“I needed to buy my meds.”
“Why didn’t you ask your doctor?”
“I did. He told me to take Tylenol even though I’m in agony.”
“Are you guys even listening? Did you hear what he just said?” Brad scanned the room. “He took money from an old lady. Can you believe that?”
“That’s enough, brother,” Harold admonished.
“That’s why I can’t ask Gene,” Dalton said. “Once he finds out about his mother’s kettle, he won’t want to help me.”
“Anything else?” Harold asked.
Matt Connor? But no point dragging him into this. The man was living his own hell.
Dalton shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Scrabble, Sunspots and Corndogs
_________________________________________________________
3:15 p.m.
Grams’ cabin
Huckleberry, Arizona
The screen door squealed as Gordon entered the cabin.
“Grams?”
Plastic bins filled with corn covered the kitchen counters where he’d left them earlier. She hadn’t done much while he’d been gone.
Where was she? No dinner scented the air and the oven was off.
“Grams … ? Are you here?” Gordon hollered toward the hallway.
A door opened and footsteps approached. His grandmother plastered on a smile as she joined him in the living room. Her eyes looked swollen and red.
“I wondered where you were,” Gordon said. “The sky is perfect for sun viewing right now. I rushed back so I could show you.”
“Oh goodness ... is it past three? … I haven’t done a thing today.”
“Is everything okay?”
She ignored his question and walked to the freezer where she took out a box of corndogs. “I bought these especially for you,” she said as she opened it. “I’ll make a salad. How about I whip up some brownies for dessert?”
“Sounds great,” he said.
“While they’re baking, you can give me that astronomy lesson.”
He picked up his equipment and headed toward the door. “I’ll set up. See you outside.”
Once on the deck, he squinted at the afternoon sky. Dipping toward the horizon, the sun glared white. Excitement climbed. He opened the case and removed the telescope. From a side pocket, he retrieved a Pegasus H-Alpha filter.
He threaded it to the scope and positioned his eye over the viewer. The sun seemed much brighter than what he had witnessed at home in McCormick. He made adjustments to the lens. He focused on the center of the sun’s pulsating surface.
“Grams! Come quick,” he called.
Moments later his grandmother emerged and raced to his side, wiping floured hands against an old checkered apron.
“Take a look. The sun’s having fits today.” Gordon stepped back and made room for her, gesturing to the lens. He held the viewer still, resting his hand on her shoulder as she lowered her face. “Sunspots come in pairs. Do you see any?”
“Wow … everything’s blue.”
“It’s the filter. It does that.” He grinned.
“Uh oh ... what was that?”
“What did you see?”
“A huge blast of white light.” Her head bobbed up. “Look!”
His eye found the scope. “It’s gone.” He lifted his head. “Sometimes there are several at once. There might be another one soon. NASA reported an X-12 last week.”
“X-12?”
“Solar flares have classifications,” he explained. “The X ratings are the highest. Scientists don’t worry much about them unless they’re higher than ten.”
“What happens then?”
“It depends. If we had a direct hit, satellites could be disrupted. Internet might go dark. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds scary.”
“Scientists have been warning about a super geomagnetic storm for years. They call it a Carrington Event.”
“Why?”
“Named for an astronomer a long time ago. Richard Carrington observed massive fireballs exploding from the sun’s surface. Within hours, telegraph equipment melted. Some all over the civilized world even caught on fire.”
“Explain it to me in layman’s terms.”
“The sun belches.” Gordon smiled, waiting for her reaction, but she only gave him a puzzled look. “The sun ejects out a massive amount of gas, Grams. If it hits earth, we might have problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“We could lose power for a long time. If that level of CME happens again, it could be devastating. People in 1859 were self-sufficient. Today, people would lose it.”
Seeing concern in her eyes, he added, “Don’t worry. The earth has its shields up … Most CMEs are harmless.”
“But you just said it could be bad.”
He kept his gaze on the telescope so Grams couldn’t read anything more into his words. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Freaking out his grandmother right at the beginning of his vacation wasn’t smart. “Sometimes I get carried away with my science hobby. I tend to exaggerate.”
“Gordster … don’t do that.” She poked him.
He looked through the telescope. “Nothing m
uch going on now. Lots of sunspots though so there’s a great potential for flares.”
“Hey … it’s my turn. Move over, would you?” She laughed.
He lifted his face and stepped aside.
“I never imagined something so beautiful,” she said. “The sun is alive.” As she lingered at the scope, Gordon explained about the earth’s closest star’s many idiosyncrasies.
Grams raised her head. “Better get those brownies in the oven.” She turned toward the cabin. “I’ll call you when dinner’s on.”
***
Eighty-eight million miles out, barreling through frigid blackness, a blast of ionized plasma hurtled toward Earth. Only known to the powers-that-be and a handful of backyard astronomers, the massive blob of radioactive energy, one hundred thousand miles in diameter, careened toward the planet at five million miles per hour.
***
The sun left a magenta halo in its wake as it dipped below Mohon Peak about fifty miles west. The breathtaking panorama of colors poured through the cabin window. Gordon watched the sky wax deep purple in minutes.
“That type of sunset usually means bad weather,” he told Grams. “The weatherman was right. There’s a storm on its way.”
Grams careened her neck upward as she held a salad bowl in her hands. “Hopefully no lightning. We sure could use the rain, though. Ready to eat?”
He followed her to the maple table off the kitchen area. They talked about Gordon’s upcoming college plans.
“Dad and I are driving across the country,” Gordon told her. “We planned the road trip as soon as I got my acceptance letter. We’ll tour New Mexico, New Orleans, and some Civil War sites before we head north. We’ll have a few days in D.C. checking out the museums. I can’t wait.”
She looked away and her voice quivered. “That’s nice, Gordster.”
“That’s all you have to say, Grams? You’ve been everywhere in this country. I thought you’d give me a state by state itinerary.”
“You and your dad will figure it out,” she said. She walked to the kitchen. “Ready for me to whip you at Scrabble?” She found the box in the pantry and brought it to the table.
Twenty minutes into the game Gordon’s stomach wrestled with his last corndog as he watched Grams ponder her next move. It figured, he had the valued “Q” but no vowels.
She fumbled with five remaining letters.
M … A … C … A … L
She switched them around on the game board in several positions.
“Ah ha!” She beamed.
She adjoined her remaining five letters crossways, spelling
CALAMITY
How did she do that? Gordon smiled.
Grams grinned back and headed to the kitchen. She returned with a plate of warm brownies and set them on the table. But their tantalizing aroma failed to distract him from the scrabble tiles. Had Grams’ letters predicted something dire? The word calamity and sunny conjoined by the “y” sent a quiver of unease through his body.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Greater of Two Evils
_________________________________________________________
9:35 p.m.
Gram’s cabin
After he showered, Gordon padded downstairs to tell his grandmother goodnight. Grams sat at the table as the fire in the hearth snapped at the evening chill. Seeing him enter, her anxious eyes betrayed her smile. He could read her like a book. He drew a deep breath, bracing himself for bad news. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
Two mugs and a plate of leftover brownies waited on the table while a teapot steamed. “I wanted us to have a good evening like we always do your first day here,” she said. “I need to talk to you. Please sit, Gordy.” She retrieved the kettle and a box of cinnamon tea as he joined her.
“Your mother called earlier.”
Mist wafted between them as Grams unraveled a story about his dad. Gordon’s jaw dropped when she got to the part about Dad sinking the BMW and then hitting himself. With a hammer?
The brownie on the plate remained untouched.
“That’s all I know,” Grams finally said. “I’m sure your mother will have more to say when you call her.”
Gordon lifted his tea, then gulped the spicy liquid, trying to drown the conflicting emotions crowding his throat. “What will happen to Dad?” His words cracked like a twelve year-old losing his voice.
She lifted her shoulders. “No one knows. Your mother hopes the authorities will agree to a substance abuse program instead of prison.”
“Prison? You can’t be serious.” He stood. Paced. “What should I do?”
She gazed at him steadily. “I think you should go home tomorrow.”
“Why?” This wasn’t fair.
“Your mom needs you.”
“I can’t believe Dad did this.” He sank back into his chair.
Grams gripped his hands. “Addiction changes people. I took drugs a long time ago in the 1960’s. If your grandfather hadn’t helped me, I could have been a full blown addict.” She squeezed his fingers. “I think your dad will be okay once he goes through rehab. He’s a great father. And I couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law. From what I heard, he sounds desperate. He doesn’t want to go to jail.”
Gordon wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the fact his father was addicted to pain medication or his grandmother’s confession about her own lifestyle.
“You were a druggie?”
“You were a druggie?”
“I was a foolish teenager and didn’t understand how blessed I was with the family I’d been given. Do you know what the Summer of Love was?”
“Some musical festival in New York?”
“No, that would be Woodstock. I missed that one.” She sipped her tea. “The Summer of Love took place in San Francisco. Young people all over the nation congregated in Golden Gate Park to hear live bands and get high.”
“Mom told me you were a hippie but not much else.” Other than her long hair and Birkenstocks, his grandmother seemed pretty conservative. The image of her smoking pot—holding a joint, inhaling, holding her breath, then exhaling slowly—he coughed to cover his sudden laugh.
“At fifteen I ran away from home and hitchhiked to California,” she continued. “I think I’d rather not tell you what I did in those days. Trust me, it wasn’t good. That’s where I met your grandfather. He helped me get my life together.”
“Gee, Grams, I never knew you had a wild side.”
“Wild it was. Before meeting Grandpa, I’d sleep in the park and dumpster-dive for food. It didn’t take long for my California dream to become a nightmare. Like your dad, I couldn’t get free. Apart from God sending your grandfather, I might have died from an overdose.”
“You guys met on a street corner, right? He invited you to some church thing at a coffee house?”
She nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “I didn’t want to go. But I was hungry and out of money and they offered free food.”
He remembered the story. His mother had often told him. “So grandpa missionary-dated you …”
“What?”
“He dated you, hoping he could convert you.”
Grams chuckled. “Well … I guess it worked then. Grandpa was very patient and took care of me.”
“You got married at fifteen?”
“No. Marrying me at that age would have been illegal.”
Gordon’s eyes widened. “Did you guys live together?”
“Oh no. Your grandfather had the purest of intentions. We never uh …” She paused seeming to search for the right words. “Grandpa and I never consummated our union until our wedding night four years later.”
A flash of heat traveled through his face. Considering who he was talking to, the conversation felt uncomfortable but he continued, “You held off that long? Why?”
“That was your grandfather’s doing. His walk with his God dictated abstinence. Also he believed I should c
ome to faith in Christ first. If I didn’t, our marriage would never work.”
“When did you come back to Arizona?”
“First, Grandpa got me situated at a drug rehab place in Palo Alto where I got clean. Then he drove me home in that old VW you love so much. The day we pulled up into my driveway was the hardest day of my life. My mother had aged ten years. I had literally broken my parent’s hearts.
“They were so indebted to Grandpa, my father gave him a job and found him a place to live.” Grams smiled, enjoying the memory. “It took me awhile but little by little, my faith grew. God does that.”
Gordon knew where this conversation was headed and he didn’t feel like talking about his own faith, or lack thereof. He was no longer sure what he believed. It was time to bring the conversation back to his father.
“Does Grace know about Dad?” he asked.
“Your mother hasn’t told her.”
“I guess I should head home then.” He shrugged. “I can keep Grace distracted before school starts. We’ll sugarcoat it. She doesn’t need to know everything.”
“Your mom will figure it out.” Grams looked at the wall clock. “I guess you should call her. It’s getting late.”
“I can do that later.” Gordon got up. “Gotta get my stuff packed. I’d like to finish some of my chores tonight. It’ll get my mind off this.”
“That would be great, Gordy. I’ll stay up and keep you company.” She gestured toward the garden bins at the back of the kitchen. “I’ll get the corn bagged so you can put it in the cellar freezer.”
“Sure thing, Grams, as soon as I pack my gear.”
“And Gordy … you might want to change your ticket. Take a later bus. That way you can have a little fun in town tomorrow before you go.”
Good idea. Might as well enjoy the last of his vacation before heading back to a desert of change and turmoil.
***
10:01 p.m.
McCormick, Arizona
Samantha’s cell chimed. Dalton’s smiling face appeared in the display. As much as she didn’t want to talk to him, she accepted the call.
