She pulled out two chairs at the small wooden table right by the window, and helped them get seated. “Speaking of asking, and sorry for prying, but when are you two going to get started in that direction?”
“Whenever we’re blessed,” answered Joad with a sweet smile.
“The perfect response from the good reverend.” She took Joad’s hand and held it with genuine kindness. “And I hope you’re blessed over and over.”
They thanked Amy, who said she’d be back in a bit for their order.
The second she left, Becky looked across the table at him. “‘When we’re blessed’,” she sing-songed with a chuckle. “Can you lay it on a little thicker, Father?”
“You love it when I talk all preacherly,” he said.
“You betcha.” She laughed again and grabbed the menu.
“You still need to look?” Joad asked. “What’s this? The fiftieth time we’ve been here?”
“At least.” Becky tossed the menu back on the table. “I just like looking at all the corny names.”
“So, what’s it going to be today? The George or the Teddy?”
“How ’bout we get both and split?” Becky asked.
“Deal.”
She gave him one more grin, then turned to look out the plate glass window. Joad knew she always waited until they sat down and ordered before taking that first peek. Then it was only “their” view—and no one else’s in the whole wide world.
Joad watched the smile spread across her face as she took it all in.
That was the sight he traveled a couple of hours each time to see. That look on her face of pure joy and happiness.
It was funny Amy picked today to ask them about starting a family. They had been having that very discussion the previous evening before bed. They both felt ready and agreed to begin trying in earnest when he got back from his goodwill mission to India, which started early the next week.
Of course, they had fallen into bed laughing and begun to fool around. No harm done getting a little practice in.
“You’re staring again,” Becky said.
“Huh?” Joad responded, snapping out of his daydream.
“You’re staring at me again.”
“Just taking in the view.”
Becky pointed out the window. “The best one’s out there.”
“Depends where you’re sitting.”
Becky blushed, but he knew she never tired of him saying it. Joad finally turned and followed her gaze. “It is incredible,” he agreed.
For the next few minutes they enjoyed it in silence. Amy came back over and took their order.
Right after she left, Becky took his hand and held it tight.
“You know what I like best about this being ‘our place’?”
“Me willing to split The Teddy and George?”
She laughed. “Well, yes, that of course.”
Then, she turned serious.
“No, what I really love is that I know if for some reason we got separated, we got lost, we ended up in some place with no way to get in touch with each other, I’d know to come here.” She tapped the table with their enclosed hands. “And you’d know to come here too.”
Joad looked at this woman he thanked God for each and every day the sun came up.
“I would,” he said.
“That way one of us would always find the other one waiting for them.”
But The Borg was empty.
There were only a few chairs and tables in the deserted dining room. The walls had been stripped clean of the memorabilia that once filled them. The kitchen counters in the rear looked like they hadn’t been dusted since the Strangers dropped in for a visit years ago.
Joad and Fixer stood in the doorway, their horses tied up outside.
He had explained enough that Fixer shared a touch of Joad’s heartbreak when they stepped inside the empty restaurant. Joad was already kicking himself; he had taken Laura’s idea to heart and convinced himself Becky was actually alive and would have been waiting for him here all this time.
But all he got was the same brutal dose of reality that greeted him when he’d arrived in Nemo a few days earlier.
Everything he ever loved and hoped for was gone.
Except for their table.
It still stood by the plate glass window with the view that neither he nor Becky had ever grown tired of. Joad approached it for old times’ sake, with Fixer beside him.
“Oh my God,” Fixer said staring straight out the window.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Joad replied. He hadn’t looked yet, falling into the old pattern: sit down first, then take in the view.
He settled into the chair. Fixer sat across from him, a stunned expression still on his face. Joad understood what he was experiencing. He had felt the same way when he looked out the plate-glass window for the first time so many years ago.
It was unlike anything on Earth.
Joad sat in silence, overwrought with despair. He ended up gripping the edge of the table for support. He really did need to steady himself; the last thing he wanted to do was crumble into pieces, especially in this place.
He felt something taped underneath the table edge.
He picked and pulled at it.
And came up with a packet of apple seeds.
Joad suddenly couldn’t breathe. He just held it up and showed Fixer.
“Is that from her?” Fixer asked, the first to find his voice.
“It has to be.”
Joad flipped it over and saw four hastily scribbled words on the back of the packet.
He’s looking for me.
He showed this to Fixer as well. Then, Joad finally turned to take a look out the window.
To take in the view.
Becky’s view. Her favorite view.
It was something else all right.
There, less than a mile away, hovering above the morning mist, was the monument in all its glory.
With one of the Strangers’ spacecraft firmly embedded in Abraham Lincoln’s head.
Joad stared at it for the longest time.
She’s alive, he thought. My dearest, darling, Becky is alive.
And running from my father.
He finally looked away from the window and back at the packet of apple seeds in his hand.
He felt renewed.
He knew what and who to look for.
Where? He didn’t have a clue.
He stared out one more time at the ship buried in the monument, Gutzon and Lincoln Borglum’s sculpted masterpiece. Then, he looked around The Borg, the diner that bore the name of that father and son.
Father and son, thought Joad.
Unfinished business he would have to deal with sooner than later.
But not before finding his true love.
Moments later, Fixer and Joad had saddled up and ridden off, disappearing in the mist gathered below what remained of Mount Rushmore.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The first incarnation of this novel was as an idea for a television series. My gratitude goes to all those people who loved the idea but didn’t end up making the show. It allowed this book and idea to flourish in so many ways.
The second version was as a Kindle Serial. Released in eight parts, it was an incredible way to put the story together; writing to a deadline with no ability to go backwards because readers were catching up. For that reason I’d like to thank Charles Dickens and Stephen King for paving the way – I remember rushing down to the newsstand to buy installments of King’s “The Green Mile” each month and I certainly cut my teeth on a whole rash of Dickens.
Many thanks to my literary agent Victoria Sanders who convinced me this was a cool thing to try. Kudos to Bernadette Baker-Baughman who was right there beside her. Thanks to my TV agents Robb Rothman and Vanessa Livingston.They have endorsed this crazy trip I’ve been on and have always told me to get back to “The Seventh Day” – so here you go.
I can’t thank Victoria Griffith and
Daphne Durham enough for suggesting the serial in the first place. And also Alex Carr and his team at 47 North for leading the way on this groundbreaking way of rolling out a novel.
A special round of thanks goes to Benee Knauer. Her suggestions and support were instrumental in getting this book in shape and out on time. You are a true friend.
I’m so appreciative of the kind words and support from my author friends, Charles Ardai, Michael Koryta, and Karin Slaughter. Also, for all the help that Erin Mitchell has provided getting the word out about the book.
A shout out to Les Alexander and Don Enright who were on this journey way back when I first thought of it. And to my partners Lloyd Segan and Shawn Piller who are on the ride now and let me keep spinning around the carousel.
Many thanks to the gang at P/S/S – AJ Konowitch, Keaton Anderson, Sari Sanchez, Gideon Pine, Ashley Cox and Hannah Hallmark for keeping pace with each installment and wanting to know what happened next. I’m grateful to Cindy McCreery for some great suggestions, including a horrible fate for Naomi and something really sad for Laura, along with doing her half of the Texas Project. There is no way I would’ve gotten this done otherwise. And thank you so much to Michele Klapper, my #1 fan – je t’aime.
Most of all, my love and thanks to Holly – who always loved this tale. She was the one who always kept asking about it – and it wouldn’t be here without her encouragement and love. And neither would I.
About the Author
Scott Shepherd has worked in television as a writer and producer for over twenty-five years. While studying as an undergraduate at Stanford, he developed one of the first courses on mystery and detective novels, which remains part of the curriculum. His television credits include some of the most popular shows in television history, including "The Equalizer," "Miami Vice," "The Dead Zone," "Quantum Leap," for which he received and Emmy nomination, and "The Outer Limits," for which he received a Cable Ace Award. Scott has collaborated with numerous best-selling novelists including Karin Slaughter, Harlan Coben, and Stephen King, whose novel The Colorado Kid is the basis for the current SyFy hit "Haven." In addition to his television work, Scott teaches writing at the prestigious graduate program of University of Texas, Austin. Scott lives in Los Angeles with his wife.
A Note to Readers
Thank you for reading The Seventh Day by Scott Shepherd. Fans will want to note that in Scott’s next novel, Descending Son (forthcoming from 47North), a film entitled The Seventh Day is referenced. It’s a fun tie between the works, and a pertinent excerpt from Descending Son follows.
Excerpt from The Descending Son
The Jameses’ house looked deserted when Jess pulled into the driveway. No parked cars, only a couple of lights on in a palace that had more than five hundred. He had thought about calling ahead but nixed the idea. A phone call would give Clark James time to either bug out or concoct a story.
Jess rang the bell and got no response. He tried again and was about to head back for the SUV when a light flicked on in the hallway. Footsteps approached. Then the curtain in the side window slipped aside.
Tracy appeared on the other side of the pane. Her smile cut right through his heart. The drape slid back into place, the front porch light came on, and she quickly unlatched the door.
“Jess. Wow. This is a surprise.”
“Actually, I was looking for your dad.”
“He’s not here.”
She couldn’t hide her disappointment, but it was quickly replaced by concern. Jess had changed out of the singed clothes, but he still wore the telltale signs of going three rounds with a fiery blaze. “What happened to you?”
“It’s one of the things I want to talk to him about.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
She didn’t rise to the bait and instead opened the door further. “Come on in. You can wait for him. He went to the country club for a dinner meeting. He shouldn’t be that long.”
Jess hesitated on the threshold. Tracy’s smile was coy, scolding, and alluring all at once. “I’m not going to bite.”
He gave in and entered the house. Tracy wore a halter top, shorts, and sandals. Simple threads, plain colors, a beautiful girl. Jess followed her into the living room. His mind went back to a time when they would have made an immediate detour upstairs and not emerged from her room till the next morning.
But seven years was seven years. And though there might still be torrents of water under all those broken bridges, Jess knew in his heart they were beyond repair.
Tracy turned on a couple of lights and had him sit down on the couch. He passed on anything to eat or drink—even though he couldn’t remember when he’d last done either.
“Some Band-Aids? Soap for the wounds?”
“I’m okay, Trace.”
“You don’t look it.” She settled down beside him on the sofa.
“Been a long couple of days.”
“Did you find what you were looking for the other night when you ran out of the office?”
Jess thought about how much he wanted to tell her. He wasn’t really sure what he knew or surmised. It rambled all together and most of it didn’t make sense. He chose the safest path. “I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
“What did you want to talk to Dad about?”
Jess figured there was no harm getting her objective view on the subject. “How long has your father known Edward Rice?”
Tracy frowned. Whatever she was expecting Jess to say, this wasn’t it. “For a while. Five years, I’d say. Why?”
“He’s gotten pretty tight with my family, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve heard people talk. Can’t say I’ve witnessed much with my own eyes. I haven’t spent a lot of time with the Starks since you left. As you can well imagine.”
“I heard your father introduced Rice to my dad.”
“I think that’s right. I can’t say for sure. He took care of my dad when he was in the hospital. It makes sense he would have met Walter during that time since he owned the place.”
“When was your father in the hospital?”
“Right after The Seventh Day shut down. He was really sick. We did a good job keeping it out of the tabloids.”
“I make a habit out of ignoring them, so I had no way of knowing.”
“There was so much bad publicity about the movie that Dad’s publicists were able to shift the focus from his illness to the film shutting down. When he finally got better, he did one press conference announcing his retirement and that was that.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Dr. Rice never pinned it down. Dad got so weak during filming he couldn’t leave the tents they were camped out in. He finally collapsed and by the time Rice brought him back home, Dad’s blood counts were either off the chart or nonexistent …”
“What do you mean ‘brought him back’?”
“Edward Rice was the physician on the film. He finally stood up to the director and said if they didn’t get Dad into a proper hospital, The Seventh Day would be the great, late Clark James’s swan song. In the end, they shut the movie down, paid off the locals, and the rest of the crew came back from Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
Tracy smiled. “You sure you’ve been working in LA all these years? It was a really big deal.”
“My clientele isn’t exactly the Hollywood jet-set. Mostly escrow companies and banks.”
“Well, Dad was hell-bent on making this apocalyptic Western that no studio wanted to finance. He put up half the money himself. He would tell you they went to Mexico because the look was perfect, but it’s no big secret you can get a crew to work for thirty cents on the dollar down there. Luckily, it saved him a ton of dough when he had to pay everyone off.”
Jess was rapidly processing all this information. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the picture of the church he’d taken from Tom Cox’s locked room. He showed it to Tracy.
“
This look familiar?”
She looked at the photograph with great scrutiny. “Where’d you get this?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve seen it before?”
Instead of answering, Tracy got to her feet. “Gimme a second, okay?”
“Sure. I think I need some fresh air anyway.”
Tracy disappeared into the bowels of the house while he headed outside. Even though Jess was hit by a blast of hot air the moment he opened the glass door, he had to repress a shiver. Things were folding on top of one another and he was feeling more uneasy than ever.
* * *
Jess sat at the edge of the Jameses’ pool and stared out at the desert night. So many things still bothered him. Clark James’s illness was front and center. It sounded eerily similar to what had befallen his own father—anemia, loss of strength, and a diagnosis that befuddled his physician, the same physician in fact. Jess was beginning to lose perspective. Was Edward Rice behind everything that seemed wrong in Palm Springs? Or was his dislike for the man so intense that Jess wanted to lay everything at the doctor’s feet?
The Mexico angle was equally troubling. Instead of tying things closer together, the strange events seemed to be spreading. What started as a man dying of old age in the desert was suddenly moving across the border and back five years in time. No wonder Jess’s head hurt so much.
He dipped his hand in the pool and dabbed the water across his singed forehead. The coolness stung a little, but still soothed. A hint of jasmine swept through the night breeze, then grew stronger. He turned around and realized that the scent was coming from Tracy, who had slipped up from behind and settled beside him while barely making a sound.
She put a tender hand on his shoulder, apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”
“That’s okay,” said Jess. “Daydreaming.”
He didn’t remember smelling the jasmine scent in the living room. She must have put the fragrance on since he came outdoors. Tracy placed her hand over his wet brow. Jess didn’t rush to remove it.
“You going to tell me why you decided to jump into a barbecue?” “Let’s just say it wasn’t my choice and leave it at that?”
The Seventh Day Page 39
