The Road to Testament

by Eva Marie Everson

  I went inside, sat at the bar dividing the kitchen from the living room, and worked like a college student cramming for finals. Hours later, done with my task, I climbed the stairs and searched my briefcase for a couple of flash drives. I tenderly made my way back down, inserted the first one, and uploaded a file titled FREED SLAVES’ GRAVES. In the report I wrote the words: “Alma’s Nana has written verification in an old family Bible. Please talk to her about this.”

  I loaded the second flash drive with transferred photos I’d taken of Sean’s phone’s screen, along with a detailed description of how I’d gleaned the information.

  “Above everything,” I wrote in the last paragraph of the report to Shelton Decker, “Brianna is innocent in all this. She’s just a kid trying to make a living. Please protect her. As for me, I’ll await my fate in Winter Park and will return if necessary. I have spoken with my father and I prayed for most of the night, and I believe that you will do the right thing. Perhaps not the easiest thing, but the one that is right.”

  I removed the flash drive and shut down the computer.

  Then I arranged a stack of handwritten notes, slid them into a manila envelope, took a Sharpie and wrote across the center: Hunting Grounds & Garden Parties.

  Everything they needed to revive the magazine could be found within the pages. The only additional thing they’d need was someone to run it. For certain, it would not be me.

  I closed the storm door behind me but left the main door open. I stuck a Post-it with “Come Inside” on the glass, hoping William would see it, walk in, and find the envelope.

  A minute later, I drove down the driveway a final time, car packed solid, and stopped at the back of the Decker home. I eased out of my car, walked slowly to the door, and opened it. “Miss Bobbie?” I called.

  “Ashlynne?” she yelled from the other side of the house. “Come on in!” Her footsteps echoed, growing louder as she came nearer. I stepped into the kitchen and waited. When she’d arrived at the door leading to the far side of the house, she stopped. “Land’s sake. Look at you. No crutches.”

  I extended my arms in a “look at me” pose and said, “My foot is still a little tender, but much, much better.”

  Bobbie finished her trek into the kitchen. “I’m so happy to hear that. Are you heading to the office?” She looked at her watch. “Although it’s nearly time for lunch.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m—ah—I have to do some running around.” I held up the two flash drives and said, “Bobbie, will you do me a favor? Will you give both of these to Shelton when he comes in?” I pulled Sean’s phone from my purse. “And this?”

  Her expression raised all the questions I’d expected it would. Bobbie Decker was, by no means, a stupid woman. “Why don’t you just give them to him yourself?”

  “I’m . . .” I sighed. “I’m returning to Winter Park, Bobbie. And I want you to know how much I’ve appreciated your hospitality, but I must return . . . home.” I placed the drives and phone on the nearby counter. “These hold some work I wanted to finish before leaving. And the phone . . . well, he’ll know. It’s . . . imperative that Mr. Shelton get them.”

  Bobbie’s confusion meshed with shock. Her hands went to her face. “Oh dear. Did we do something to cause this? Say something?” Her hands dropped. “Is it William? Has he done anything inappropriate?”

  I hugged her quickly. “Oh goodness no. You didn’t say or do anything. And William is a fine grandson. You have every reason to be proud.”

  She placed her fingertips on both sides of my face, drawing my eyes to hers. “You promise me this is what you need to do?”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “Ah. I remember asking the same question of your grandmother all those years ago.” She released me with a kiss to both cheeks. “Well, darlin’, you have to do what you have to do, I suppose. I’ll tell Shelton, but he’s going to be quite upset you didn’t go by the newspaper.”

  “I can’t,” I said around the “rubber band” that twisted and pulled in my throat.

  “Afraid you’ll see William there?”

  I nodded. Pressed my own fingertips to my lips to stop the quivering, and said, “Please, Miss Bobbie. Tell everyone I said good-bye.”

  I turned and walked out the door to the Jag. I started it up, gasping to keep from crying, then drove it down to the end of the driveway, where I stopped to call Rob.

  “Hey, there. Where are you?” I asked.

  “Just pulled up in the driveway, why?”

  I turned my car in the direction of his house. “Could you stand some company for about five minutes?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Whose company would it be? Yours or St. Valentine’s?”

  I choked on my laughter. “I confess, but come on. She . . . never mind. I’m pulling up behind you. Bye.”

  I parked the car. Rob walked toward me as I got out.

  “Hey, there,” he said. He looked darling and tousled as always.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He peered into my car and said, “You look a little loaded down there. Going somewhere?”

  “Home.”

  His brow rose. “William know about this?”

  I shook my head. “And I’d appreciate you not telling him.” I shrugged. “I just wanted to say good-bye. That I really, really enjoyed getting to know you and—yes—I played Cupid. But you have to admit, Brianna is a special young woman.”

  He crossed his arms and shifted until he’d braced his feet about six inches apart. “Funny how I never thought of her like that—I mean, other than as just being a girl—until the night of the movie.” He squinted a little. “You know . . . afterward, we talked a lot. Really got to know each other. We want the same things in life, you know what I mean?”

  I did. In many ways, William and I did, too. With one difference. We’d both returned “home,” when our aspirations backed us between the proverbial rock and hard place, but his “home” was here. In Testament. Mine was in Winter Park. His was a paid-for guesthouse out in the middle of nowhere. Mine was a condo with a view of the city and a too-high mortgage.

  We wanted the same, different thing.

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” I finally answered. “And I think that’s wonderful.” I extended my hand for a shake. He took it, and pulled me to himself for a hug.

  “You take care now,” he said.

  “Send me a wedding invitation?” I opened my car door and eased in. When I looked back to him, a bright blush continued to stain his cheeks. I laughed easily this time.

  “Let’s just take it one step at a time,” he said.

  “I’m sure you will.” I waggled my fingers at him. I took a deep breath, tried to be strong. But when I said, “Bye . . . ,” my voice broke.

  I found Brianna at home. Maris, who played in the front yard with a couple of her little friends, told “Miss Ashlynne” that her mommy was inside unloading groceries and “to just go on in.”

  I opened the door as I’d done at Bobbie’s and called to my young friend. Her eyes brightened when she saw me at the door. “Heeeey,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you’re unloading groceries so I thought I’d come help.”

  “What?” She tilted her head. From outside, the laughter of Maris and her friends reached us. “Oh. Maris.” Brianna giggled like a schoolgirl. “Come on back. If you’re volunteering, I’m accepting. It’s been a long day.”

  We went into the same kitchen where I’d recently shown Brianna about skin care and how to better apply her makeup. This time, the table was loaded down with plastic sacks spilling over with Bri’s recent purchases.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked me. “Water?”

  “No.” I pulled a few items from the sacks and placed them on the countertop. “Actually, I’m here to say good-bye.”

  Brianna stood with a five-pound bag of sugar in one hand and a bottle of ketchup in the other. “What?” she asked, her smil
e fading to a distinct frown.

  I reached for more of the food.

  “No,” she said, placing the sugar and ketchup back on the table. “Is it because of me? Because of what I showed you?”

  I clutched the back of one of the chairs. “No. Not because of you. But, yes, because of what you showed me. Partly. I’ve—ah—I’ve written a full report of what I found in Sean’s phone and left it with Mr. Shelton.”

  Brianna pulled out a chair and sat. “I can’t believe you’d just leave like this.”

  I pulled out the chair in front of me and said, “Believe me, Bri, it’s for the best. If Mr. Shelton needs me to come back, you know, to testify or . . .” To go to jail. But I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t tell Brianna what I knew she had never suspected—that my entering the Flannery home and opening Sean’s bureau drawer had been both unethical and illegal. Even if it meant that I, in the end, saved his life. “But I made sure he knows that you are innocent in everything.”

  Brianna laid her hands flat on the table. “I don’t care about that. I like you, Ashlynne. I don’t want you to leave. I like having you as my friend.”

  My heart skipped. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” She looked toward the kitchen window. Tears formed in her eyes. “Not because of you coming over and doing all that skin- care stuff and not because of all those nice things you sent me.” She looked at me again. “I just like . . . you.”

  I pressed my hand against my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I like you, too.”

  “So then don’t go.”

  I shook my head. “I have to, Bri. But I have your number and you have mine. We’ll stay in touch. After all”—I felt a smile wobble upward—“you have to keep me posted on how things are going with you and Rob.” I stood. Pressed my hand against the flat of my stomach. “I have a long trip. I’d best be going.”

  Brianna stood with me. Brushed tears from her cheeks. “I reckon.”

  We started through the house. “Hey,” I said. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?”

  “Not at all.” She extended her left arm. “It’s just right in there.” She chuckled. “You can’t really get lost in this house.”

  I went into a bathroom decorated with a Disney Princess shower curtain, purple and pink towels, and a large purple throw rug. A classic white over-the-toilet étagère had Disney Princess stickers in the four corners of its glass doors. I reached for the stainless-steel knobs to open them. To peer inside as I’d always done. Then stopped myself. My snooping had caused enough chaos in Testament.

  I did what I’d come into the room to do—I washed my hands, then started for the door. Stopped. Turned to the étagère and took three steps backward. “Oh who am I kidding?” I asked myself. With a deep breath, I pulled the doors open.

  Inside, I found a “Princess” toothbrush, cup, toothpaste, and additional towels and washcloths, along with three rolls of toilet paper. On the top shelf, a short stack of magazines took up the left-hand side. I reached for the top magazine. When I did, a small book I’d not seen slid toward me.

  The devotional.

  The same book from the cottage. The same one I’d seen at Will’s. Without caring that I’d have to admit I’d been snooping, I picked it up, walked out of the bathroom, and called for Brianna.

  “I’m back in the kitchen.”

  I walked in, holding the book up. “Please don’t ask how I came across it, but where did you get this book?”

  She hardly seemed nonplussed. “William.”

  “Decker?”

  “Mmhmm.” She pulled a few more groceries from a bag and placed them in the opened refrigerator. “He gave them to several people for Christmas gifts last year.”

  I stared at the book.

  “Why are you so curious?” She walked to where I stood.

  “I’ve read this every morning—or nearly—since I’ve been here. I love this book. It’s ministered to me in the most amazing way.” I paused at a memory. “Come to think of it, when I saw it at Will’s, when I asked him where I could get one, he didn’t really answer.” I looked at her. “Now why wouldn’t he just tell me where I could buy it?”

  Brianna grinned. “Because it’s not for sale anywhere. It’s just his.”

  “I’m sorry? What?”

  “He wrote it. You know that mirror in the downstairs bath at the cottage?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “He took photos of the tiles, then compiled the Scriptures to go along with each one. I’d let you take mine, but he signed it special to me.”

  I opened the book to the inside page. Sure enough, Will had written: Live life to the fullest, Bri. Merry Christmas, William A. Decker.

  “Did he—did he also make the mirror?”

  She nodded. “He’s very talented.” She clasped her hands together as though she were in prayer. “I can’t believe you’re leaving Testament and Will Decker. Most girls around here would think you’re totally crazy.”

  “Maybe I am,” I said. I gripped the book firmly in both hands and handed it to her. “I heard a song one time . . . in William’s truck. It says something about not telling everyone I’m crazy . . . after losing the someone your heart, you know . . . fell for.”

  “I know it. Jason Aldean.”

  “Well . . . don’t tell anyone, okay? That I’m crazy?” I tried to laugh, but instead, more tears fell. I brushed them aside. Hugged her with a quick squeeze and stepped away. “Good-bye, Brianna.”

  39

  After a hurried good-bye to Maris and her friends, I got back into my car. I looked at my watch. Time had slipped by quickly. William would have found the envelope by now. Perhaps talked to his grandmother. He’d suspect I’d visit Brianna, and he’d be right behind me.

  I had to hurry.

  I turned the selector to reverse and prepared to ease out of the driveway. A blur of black shot across my rearview mirror and forcing me to slam on my brakes. I jerked my head around to see Will’s old truck blocking my exit. I turned the selector back to park and waited.

  The truck’s driver’s-side door flung open. Will hopped out, almost exactly as he’d done when I first saw him on Main Street, two and a half weeks earlier. “Do you care to explain—”

  I lowered my window. “Will, don’t . . .”

  He squatted so that we were nearly nose-to-nose. Aware we had a young audience, I looked to the right, ducking enough that I could see out of the windshield. Maris and her friends scampered up the front porch steps. Brianna stood at the opened front door, both hands covering her mouth.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Will asked, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Home,” I said, crossing my arms. “To Winter Park.”

  He pulled the cowboy hat from his head and wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow with his forearm. “So that’s it, huh? Just like back in middle school.” He replaced the hat. “When things got tough in middle school, what did you do?”

  I looked straight ahead, unable to answer him.

  “You went back to private school.”

  I faced him again. “So? Didn’t you do the same thing?”

  He stood. “Get out of the car.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Please. So I can talk to you.”

  “No, Will.” I started to cry. “There’s nothing to say.”

  He squatted again. The look in his eyes—hurt, bewildered. I couldn’t stand it, so I looked forward. “Look. I went through your notes on the magazine—apparently you do know the name of it—and . . . you’ve . . . we’ve got something here. We can do something really great. With our knowledge about publishing and your journalistic nose . . .”

  My heart skipped. I looked at him. “Did you see your grandmother?”

  “I did.” A long sigh escaped through his nostrils. “And I saw the flash drives.”

  I hadn’t wanted him to catch me. I’d wanted to be gone by now so I wouldn’t have to see him. To see his anguish and disap
pointment . . . over the coach. Even to see his respect over my work with the slave graves.

  I just wanted to go home . . .

  “Then you know. Everything.”

  He nodded. “Nearly. I didn’t have time, really, to read the whole thing.” He paused. “And I know about Lawson. I’m sorry.”

  We stared at each other for long moments as our eyes searched the other’s, looking for the next right thing to say. Our hearts seeking the next right thing to do.

  “Hey,” Will whispered. “Don’t leave. Come back to the office and we’ll sit down with Big Guy. Talk this out. We’ll figure out what to do about Sean’s phone. The best thing.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I—”

  “Come on, now . . .”

  But again, I shook my head. “Please let me go,” I half whispered, half cried.

  He waited. I suppose hoping I’d change my mind. But when nothing came but silent tears, he stood again. Patted the top of the car. “Well,” he said, his voice deep and low. “If you’re that determined, I can’t stop you.”

  I glanced up. His face, shadowed by the hat, seemed like steel. Then it went soft. Tender. “But I’ll miss you. We all will.”

  I reached for something light to say, something to ease the pain. For him. For both of us. “I bet the girls in advertising won’t feel that way.”

  He grimaced. “Well, maybe not all . . .”

  He leaned in. Brought his lips to mine. Gently. “Call me and let me know you got home all right.”

  I nodded, keeping my face straight ahead. Just go . . . just go . . . just walk away and go.

  And then he did.

  Somehow, through the tears and hiccups, I made it through town and to the highway leading to Charlotte.

  According to my GPS, I was eight hours and twenty-six minutes from home.

  You’re only six minutes from home.

  The voice, almost audible, seemed to fill the space—what little bit was left—in my car.

  I shook my head. “No. No. No.”

  I pictured myself driving into Winter Park. If I didn’t stop, except maybe for a few stretch breaks and calls from Mother Nature, I’d be home before midnight. Who would be on night duty at the guard station?