She looked up at him again and this time held his gaze. Her expression was filled with a shadow of resentment. “Before I ran away from here with Simon...?”
He hated the sound of that monster’s name on her lips but he nodded to urge her to continue.
“I always wanted to be this thin.”
“You were perfectly healthy before you started dating him. You were so pretty.” Until Simon Royce stole your youth and beauty.
“So you’re saying I’m a dog now?” For a breath of a second there was a spark of her old humor in those eyes.
He watched it fade as quickly as it had come and he pushed the plate closer to her. “I’m saying I’d like to make an attempt at fleshing you out.” He filled his own plate and sat down across from her. “Are you planning to stay for a while?” So proper, so awkward. Why couldn’t he show a little more emotion?
“Would I be allowed to stay?”
“I thought we had already discussed that.” Still the stiffness. “We might even find some clothing for you to wear to the table that wouldn’t make me lose my breakfast.” He gestured to the imitation blood spattered on her T-shirt and he smiled at her.
Once again that spark of humor and then Trisha picked up her fork and speared a square of crunchy hash browns.
Mitchell did likewise but he couldn’t stop watching her.
***
A little later Sunday morning Jessica caught a glimpse of sunlight scattering in dappled beams through tree branches that were freshly touched with spring green. The brightness nearly blinded her and she was glad this road leading out of Dogwood Springs was deserted.
She had pulled on her hiking boots and filled a canteen with water as soon as Lauren drove off. She had already eaten breakfast, so she wouldn’t need anything else for a while—not that she expected to be hungry.
Now she shaded her eyes and drove slowly, studying the roadsides.
“Was I mistaken all this time?” she asked God as she pressed the brake and pulled into the skimpy shade of a pink dogwood in full bloom. “I thought Archer and I were doing exactly what you wanted us to do. I thought you meant for us to be together.” Some of the raw anger she had felt toward God yesterday had dwindled this morning. While she wasn’t sure He heard her, she continued to talk.
She had been talking to Him practically nonstop ever since Lauren left this morning. Maybe it had been the way Lauren left her prayer open-ended as if she expected Jessica to continue it. Or maybe it was just that she had discovered that the connection kept the fear at bay.
Whatever it was she needed this link to God so desperately that every word she thought she spoke aloud to Him. Every time she thought of someone in the church who needed prayer she welcomed it. And every time she thought of something else to confess about herself she did so eagerly.
Even if He wasn’t listening.
“I’m so scared right now and I can’t go spilling all this to people in the church, not when there are people like Helen Netz who analyze every little thing I do. But I’m scared.” A tremor shook her voice. “Help me please. Oh, please help me find Archer.”
There was no time for tears right now and if she found Archer this morning there would be no need. Who was better equipped to know what he might have done Friday night? Who better to understand his heart and know what might have been on his mind when he left the hospital? Something had either happened on his way to Mrs. Eddingly’s or maybe Archer had picked up a hitchhiker and this time the stranger had been a nutcase and held a knife to his throat or a gun to his head. Maybe someone had attacked him—
“No, stop it,” she said aloud. Her imagination had been doing this to her for the past twenty-four hours. It was one reason she’d been so glad to see Lauren last night—and it was why she’d been so frightened this morning to see her leave.
Maybe she should go to the church and ask for someone to pray with her. Mrs. Boucher, Archer’s long-suffering secretary, was such an encourager.
But Mrs. Boucher had other things to worry about, answering constant calls and questions at the church. She would be buried by now.
Jessica drove to the roadblock on Highway Z and then made a U-turn and drove back into town. She had driven all the streets several times already but somehow just being on them seemed to bring her closer to Archer. She saw a familiar muscular young man restacking sandbags along the side of some houses on Ford Street.
Hadn’t she seen him at a different house yesterday?
On impulse, she pulled to the side of the road and parked, got out, squished through a marshy lawn to where Kent worked. He settled a bag into place and turned to her, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi Kent. Did your co-workers take off on you?”
“Gone to church but I heard more rain’s on the way. Thought I’d better keep an eye on things.”
She’d heard the same forecast. Looking up at the sky, she wanted to believe the rain would stay away. “I guess you’ve heard about Archer.”
“Sure have. Been out looking for him, too—yesterday afternoon. You not goin’ to church?”
“I’m still looking for my husband.”
“Guess I’ll be headed out that way, too—soon as I check on my little brother. Mom says he’s sick and she might need me to drive them in to see the doc if he doesn’t get better. You think you could... you know...” He shrugged. “Could you pray for him?”
“Oh, Kent, of course I will.” Why was it she felt so much more comfortable with this near stranger, this eighteen-year-old lawbreaker, than she did with the upstanding members of the church? “Do you want to pray with me now?”
He looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “Nah, I know you’ll do it. I guess I could, uh, pray for Archer, too, while I’m stacking.”
She thanked him and returned to her car. The distinction had something to do with expectations. Kent Eckard expected nothing from her because he hadn’t been raised with all those high concepts of a traditional church.
She pressed the brake when she came to Dogwood Avenue, which curved through the center of town past the church. They would be congregating in the auditorium now. She glanced in the direction of the church and prayed that they wouldn’t forget Archer during their services.
She slowed at the intersection. If she went in they would welcome her of course. They would pray. Surely nobody at the church would even consider that nasty rumor about him and Lauren. But if they did could she endure their looks? What if someone even had the audacity to question her about the possibility?
Crazy. Nobody would dare.
But last summer, while Archer was in pain over their broken engagement, John Netz and two of his buddies had dared to suggest that Archer should resign from the church because of that stupid rumor.
She pressed the accelerator and drove past the intersection. Obviously, she wasn’t in any shape to endure that kind of attention today.
She would continue the search alone.
***
About an hour after breakfast Mitchell bundled some of the clothing Darla had discarded when she left. There was a pair of silk pajamas with a button missing, and some underwear that looked as if it might wrap around Trisha twice. He also included some of his T-shirts and a pair of jeans Trisha had worn when she was fifteen. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed.
He knocked on the door of the guest bedroom. “Trisha?”
“Yeah.” The sound of her voice continued to chill him. Where had all the life and laughter gone?
“I brought some things you might be able to wear.”
No answer.
“Trisha?”
The door opened and she appeared, engulfed in an old tattered robe she must have found in the back of her mother’s closet. She looked at the bundle he carried, pushed the door open wide, turned back toward the bed, and plopped down onto it as if she didn’t have the energy to stand erect.
He placed the clothes on the dres
ser. He hadn’t expected a thank-you but he did expect some kind of acknowledgment of his presence.
“Are you still feeling ill?” he asked.
She shook her head and turned to look out the window toward the unkempt flower garden that her mother had abandoned for more interesting pursuits.
He started to walk out the door.
“Is it true you and Mom had to get married because she was pregnant with me?”
He stopped. Where had that come from? “It’s true that we married earlier than we would have otherwise. Did your mother tell you about this?”
“So you would have gotten married anyway?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Whose idea was it to get a divorce?”
He studied the waif slouched on the side of the bed. Would it help her to hear all this dirt? “Initially, I think it was a mutual decision. She says I ran her off because of my financial concepts.”
“Meaning she left you because you wouldn’t support me.”
“There were many factors involved.”
“Do you miss her?”
He thought about that for a moment, surprised that she cared. He weighed the pros and cons of telling the truth—that by the time her mother had left he was glad to see her go, that the marriage had been going downhill for years.
He sat down on the window seat. “I get lonely,” he admitted. Not lonely for Darla, just lonely. It was a big admission for him to make to another living being.
Trisha remained silent. So did he.
“I still miss Simon,” she said at last.
He didn’t reply. Anything he said about that would ignite another argument.
“He wasn’t always a drug pusher, you know.”
“I was never formally introduced to him. You never brought him home with you.”
“He was a customer at the Dairy Creme when I worked there.”
“Why did you go out with him in the first place?”
She shrugged. “He had a hot car.”
As if that explained everything. But of course for her at that age it would.
“All the girls in my class wanted to go out with him. When he asked me I nearly fainted.”
Mitchell became nauseated. “Why? Trisha, you were barely sixteen. He was almost twenty, a high-school dropout. Was he doing the meth then?”
“Some. But it was, like, not such a horrible thing, you know?”
No, he didn’t. Anyone with a brain knew the dangers of meth. And he refused to believe his daughter had lacked a brain. Still, teen hormones could cause emotions to override the thought processes. He’d been young once. Centuries ago.
“I knew he wasn’t good for me,” she said. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to go out with him.”
“That and his ‘hot’ car.” Mitchell tried to sound like he was teasing, but the revulsion bled through his words.
She didn’t seem to notice. “It’s just that he was dangerous. My friends always teased me because I was a good girl. I never went out and got drunk, never did drugs, always got good grades. I was so boring.”
“But all that changed, of course, when meth came into your life.”
He saw the immediate hurt in her eyes. “I loved Simon.”
“No. I will not accept that. You loved what you thought you saw in him and you got caught in the same trap that held him.” Mitchell looked down to find his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
It was at that moment, as the fury coursed through him, that he made a discovery. He wouldn’t feel this kind of frustrated fury if he didn’t care deeply. He wouldn’t feel a father’s rage unless he had first felt a father’s love.
He reminded himself that she’d been through a lot these past years and her brain wasn’t healthy. “That man is dead, Trisha.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. “He didn’t deserve your loyalty, he didn’t deserve your love, he didn’t even deserve the medication he received for pain before he died.”
She caught her breath and turned to look at him. “You were his doctor?”
“I was on duty when they brought him in. I was the one who pronounced him when he died.”
“How did he...was it an overdose?”
“I thought you said you read about it.”
“I wasn’t exactly at my best then.”
“He died of internal injuries from a fall.”
She slumped onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow.
“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
“Why not?” came her muffled voice.
“Because you’re my daughter no matter what. I care about what happens to you.” He was such a coward. Why couldn’t he say the words?
“No matter what? You mean even if I am a drug addict you’re stuck with me?”
“I would never disown you if that’s what you mean.”
She raised her head and looked up at him. “I guess that’ll have to work, Dad. I think I’ll take a nap now. I’ll talk to you after a while.”
He took his cue and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Yes, he loved her. Someday he would find the courage to actually say so. There’d been so much time lost. Could he do it this time? Could he build a relationship with this daughter he barely knew?
***
Jessica drove to a farmhouse set back from the southwest corner of the intersection of Highway Z and County 22.
When she knocked on the door a man in his seventies, dressed in overalls and covered in mud, stepped around the side of the house.
She met him halfway across the yard and introduced herself, her feet once more sinking into wet grass. “I’m checking to see if you might have noticed any unusual activity on the road late Friday night—perhaps an accident or someone walking along the highway.” The same question she’d asked all the others.
“Pierce.” He self-consciously wiped his muddy hands on the sides of his overalls. “Now that’s a familiar name around these parts.” He squinted closely at her. “You that feller’s wife? The preacher they’re all looking for? I read about that in the paper this morning.”
“Yes, that’s my husband.”
He frowned, shaking his head sadly. “Awful. Just awful. I was sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you. I wonder if you might have noticed something during the storm Friday? Did you see any cars come this way?”
“Well, now, there’s been all kinds of people been by here, some asking and some just searching. It wasn’t until this morning when I was reading the paper when I remembered something I didn’t think to mention to the others.”
Jessica held her breath.
“You want a cup of tea or something? The wife baked some hot rolls—”
“Thank you, no, I’ve already eaten. Please, would you tell me what you saw?”
“Well, you see, I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I got up a little after eleven o’clock or so that night for a drink of water, and I was standing at the window looking out at the rain when a car and a truck drove past.”
“Could you tell if one was a tan—”
“Couldn’t tell no color. I’m not even saying one of them was him, but it struck me odd when I thought about it this morning, ‘cause we don’t get much traffic through here at night except for the party crowd.” He jerked his head toward County 22. “Get tired of them bozos screeching their tires.”
“These vehicles you saw,” she said, “did you notice anything else about them?”
“Just that it looked like a truck followin’ too close behind a car. In fact, I didn’t even think about the crash I heard till just now.”
“A crash?” No, Lord, no.
“I was just gettin’ back into bed when I heard it.”
“Didn’t you investigate?”
“Sure did. I went right to the garage, where we have some loose pieces of tin against the outside wall—they make an awful racket when it’s windy. I just figured one of the dogs or cats had knocked ‘em sidewise.” He
shrugged. “I went back to bed and went to sleep.”
Jessica couldn’t move and for a few seconds she couldn’t speak. This man was suggesting Archer might have been involved in an accident. Could that have been what happened? But there was no evidence of an accident, no damaged cars.
“Excuse me, sir. I think I’ll be going now but I’d like to tell the police about this. If you remember anything else would you please call them?” She should ask more questions but she didn’t know what to ask. She thanked him, turned around, and stumbled a few steps, battling a wave of dizziness.
“You going to be okay?” the man asked.
“Yes. Thanks. I’ll be fine.” She had to tell Tony. She could be on to something.
Chapter Twenty-one
The heavy fragrance of moist earth tugged Archer to consciousness. Fine mist sprayed the left side of his face and his left hand and a deep growl of thunder vibrated the ground.
He opened his eyes to thick fog rising from the water’s surface as rain splashed into it with windblown gusts.
He tried to lift his legs and knives attacked his spine. He cried out, his fingers digging into the mud on which he lay.
The earth shifted and he caught his breath.
He lay still for countless moments, listening to the water roar, feeling the rain on his face, barely daring to breathe lest the movement cause a shift.
From the appearance of the sky, he realized it must be close to noon. The sun streaked from the east through clotted skies in one burst of light, then lost the battle and hid again behind the clouds.
The northern shore of the river had already disappeared into the forest at the edge of the floodplain and more rain would only make it worse.
From past experience he knew the creeks and drainages could raise the level within a short time. The steep hills and canyons above the valley caught water and siphoned it into the Black Oak with efficiency and speed.
And he was stuck here unable to move.
He clung to the powerful feeling that God’s hand was on him with purpose.
But did that divine purpose include his death?
The ground beneath him shifted again like the beginning tremors of an earthquake.
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