The Isaac Project

by Sarah Monzon

  “So, what was one of your favorite places back home?” I asked.

  He thought a moment before answering. “Lake Michigan. I know it’s not the ocean or anything, but I used to pretend it was when I was a boy. Standing on sandy beaches and looking out over the water as far as your eye can see.” He chuckled. “My cousin and I would see who would jump in first each year. One year he waded out waist deep through a filmy layer of ice. Crazy, if you ask me.”

  “Have you ever seen the ocean then?”

  “I’ve been to the Atlantic a few times. It’s weird how warm the water is though. Like bath water.” He shook his head. “Lake Michigan never gets that warm. Not even in July or August.”

  “The coast is a few hours away. I’ve never been to any of the Great Lakes, but I imagine the Pacific is like them—frigid.” I shivered just thinking about it.

  Luke peered out the window as I turned on yet another switchback. “So where are we going exactly?”

  I didn’t answer but drove the truck into a pull-off and put it in park.

  I looked at him and grinned and then slid out of the cab and closed the door with a thud. Luke met me at the back of the truck as I let the tailgate down and hopped on, my legs dangling. I patted the spot next to me and then laid back. The bed of the truck dipped under his weight.

  Millions of stars dotted the night sky. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Hello, God.

  Heat melted the frigidness of the night air along my left side, making me all too aware of the body next to mine, but the nervous ball didn’t return to my stomach.

  “This is my favorite place,” I said, my eyes never straying from the celestial masterpiece illuminated above us.

  “I can see why.” Luke’s voice held awed appreciation.

  “When I’m here…I don’t know…I just experience this special connection with God. I feel small compared to the vastness of the universe, but instead of that making me feel insignificant, I feel treasured.” I turn my head to look at him. “Does that make any sense?”

  His eyes looked into mine. “Like God must think you’re special because even though He created all of this, He still cares what happens to you and wants to be a part of your life?”

  “Yeah.” He got it. Warmth spread from my center.

  I turned my gaze back to the stars. Luke shifted, and the back of his hand grazed mine. My stomach lurched. Awareness tickled my skin, and I bit my lip.

  I snuck a look at Luke out of the corner of my eye. Husband, not stranger.

  My heart thundered in my chest. Then why was I reacting to him like a hormone-dazed teenager? It was now or never. I swallowed hard and skimmed a finger over his hand and hooked it around one of his fingers. His hand moved away, and my heart plummeted. Maybe I had just imagined the attraction, the connection. I balled my hand in a fist as rejection lumped in my throat.

  Luke’s arm crossed over mine and his calloused fingers coaxed mine from their curled position. My breath hitched as his fingers interlaced with my own. His thumb slowly stroked the back of my hand in small circles. The breath I had been holding whooshed out on a contented sigh.

  I laid my cheek against his shoulder. “So what made you decide to become a firefighter?”

  “Most boys dream of being a firefighter at some point in their childhood.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “To hear my mother tell it, I was obsessed. Firefighter themed birthdays were requested every year for a while, and I think there was about a year period when I was two or three that I insisted on only wearing my fireman costume, hat and all. I guess you can say I never grew out of the phase.”

  “Cute.”

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the grin that spread on my face. The grin turned into a yawn, and I brought my free hand up to cover it.

  “Tired?” Luke asked.

  My eyelids were starting to get heavy, but the moment was too perfect to interrupt. “Let’s just stay a little while longer.”

  His arm rose like a gate opening, welcoming and inviting me in. I scooted closer and rested my head in the crook where his shoulder and chest met. His arm came down and wrapped around me.

  The day might have been crummy, but could there be a more perfect night?

  20

  Luke

  “PLEASE DON’T TELL me you’re a Niners fan.” I groaned.

  Becky looked adorable in her football jersey with her hair pulled back in ribbons. Too bad she was wearing the wrong team colors.

  “What? You don’t like football?” She said the words like they were impossible to comprehend. Which, of course, they were.

  “I’m an American male with a pulse. Of course I like football,” I growled.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Problem is you’re a Niners fan.”

  “I don’t see why that’s a problem. They are the greatest team in the NFL. The only reason that would be a problem would be if…” She blanched. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a Rams fan.”

  “Blue and gold all the way.”

  Becky sat down hard, and the look on her face was so comical I had to laugh. One would have thought I’d told her something earth shattering by the way her mouth hung open in shock and her eyes flitted back and forth. I could almost see her brain trying to catch up and categorize the new information.

  “That’s okay,” I said reassuringly, allowing a hint of team rival condescension in my voice. “I’ll forgive your lapse of judgment.”

  Her head snapped up at that. “My lapse of judgment? My team is going to crush yours in today’s game.”

  I snorted a laugh. “We’ll ram you back all the way to when your team was actually a challenge to play against.”

  Becky glared at me, and I thought the carpet might catch on fire from the sparks in that look alone. I smothered a chuckle. The woman was downright adorable when riled. I didn’t really take the team rivalry to heart, but it was more than evident that she did. And with great passion too. What would it be like if she turned even an ounce of it on me? My heart tapped a little harder. Better put that thought away for another day.

  “If you’re so sure your team is the best, then why don’t we have ourselves a little wager?” Becky challenged.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  A little smirk played on her lips. “If the Niners win, then every Sunday for the rest of the season you have to wear a Kaepernick jersey.” She looked smug.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “But when the Rams win, you’ll have to wear their jersey for the rest of the season. I’ll even let you choose the player.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re on.” Then she turned on her heel, head held high. Walking toward the door, she only stopped long enough to grab a rain jacket and put on a pair of muck boots. It was an unusually rainy day for mid-September, but thankfully, our plans were to spend the day inside watching the game at Grandview with Mr. Sawyer.

  About a half an hour later, Becky reentered the house, shaking off the water that clung to her slicker. When she turned around from hanging the jacket on the peg by the door, her hands were shaking, and she refused to look at me.

  “What? Afraid your team is going to lose?” I goaded.

  Her chin trembled as her eyes briefly met mine. She gave a small shake of her head.

  Maybe I was taking this a little too far. Sports fans can be a little touchy. If she was getting this worked up, maybe I had better back off. I was just about to apologize, when Becky breezed past me and scooped up the keys that had been lying on the table.

  “Ready to go?” she asked without looking back at me.

  Not waiting for a response, she dashed out the door and ran to the truck, trying to dodge the falling raindrops. I followed at a more sedate pace. I’d seen an episode of a show on the Discovery Channel where these two guys conducted an experiment to see if a person would get more wet running in the rain or walking. Surprisingly, they found that a person actually
became wetter when running in the rain than just walking.

  Climbing into the truck, I buckled my seat belt, and the noisy diesel engine revved to life. Between the noise and the vibration the truck made, it’s no wonder Lady fell asleep every time Becky let her ride in the cab.

  “So why the Rams?” Becky took her eyes off the road momentarily to ask the question. “I would’ve figured you’d be a Lions or a Bears fan, coming from Michigan.”

  “My dad was originally from Saint Louis. He went to the first game after the Rams transferred their team there. When he packed up all his stuff and moved to Michigan, he took his love for the Rams with him. It was only natural that he bestowed that love to me. Call it a sports inheritance.”

  “Hmmm…” She still wasn’t happy. Was this really that big of a deal to her?

  We made it to Grandview just in time for kickoff. Becky sat on the edge of the couch next to Mr. Sawyer, who definitely looked more comfortable as he lounged against the back cushions. Becky’s focus was intense as she stared at the TV, its reflection casting a glow on her eager face. I could barely make out the “go, go, go” she muttered under her breath as Kaepernick threw it long and deep, her body rising off the couch as the spiraling ball rose in the air. Unfortunately for Becky and the 49ers, the intended receiver couldn’t quite shake the man-to-man coverage, and the ball was batted harmlessly to the turf.

  “No!” Becky sank back down to the couch, deflated. “C’mon, guys!”

  My lips twitched in a smile. While I was happy for the great defensive play from my team, I found watching Becky even more entertaining than the game.

  “I see that smile, Luke Masterson. Just don’t get too cocky over there. This is only the first half, and we’re only down by a field goal.”

  I held up my hands but did nothing to hide my broadening grin.

  The game was pretty much a deadlock after that. Neither team was able to move the ball much, nor put any more points on the board. The game clock read fifty-nine seconds left in the game, and the Rams had possession of the ball. Becky was tense. She had the edge of her jersey between her thumb and index finger, and she was rubbing the fabric. It didn’t look like she would get the chance to wear that jersey for the rest of the season. I kind of felt bad for her, but a bet was a bet.

  “Yes!” Becky shouted at the TV as she leaped off the couch. “Run!”

  Wait. What? Didn’t we have the ball? Quickly, I looked back to the screen only to see Eric Reid, the Niners safety, running down the field. Thankfully, Rams tight end Jared Cook pushed him out of bounds before he scored a touchdown.

  My mouth hung open. What happened? We had the game in the bag. Instant replay showed Sam Bradford’s mistake as he hurled the ball toward a receiver trapped in double coverage. The ball was picked out of the air by Reid in a game-changing interception. The game clock now read thirty-three seconds with the 49ers lining up at the Rams seven-yard line. With both teams in formation, the 49ers center hiked the ball, and the Rams blitzed, forcing Kaepernick out of the pocket and scrambling. With no receivers open and hulky linebackers charging him, the 49ers quarterback had two choices—throw the ball away or tuck it in close and run it himself. With the left side of the field conveniently open, the athletic quarterback lengthened his stride and sprinted to the orange pylon and the end zone. Once his feet crossed the white painted line indicating the end zone, he quickly slid to the ground to avoid a tackle and possible injury.

  “Touchdown!” Both Becky and Mr. Sawyer yelled as they gave each other a high-five.

  Now it was the Rams turn to be down by three. And if the Niners made the extra point, they’d be down by four. With less than twenty-five seconds left on the clock, they might as well have been down by a hundred. There was no way they would come back after that.

  “Ah, don’t look so dejected.” Becky came over and patted my shoulder. The gleam of victory in her eyes contradicted the comforting action. “You’re going to look really good in red and gold.”

  “Okay, rub it in. Have your fun.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Mr. Sawyer supplied from his seat. “At least we aren’t Packers fans and Becky’s not making you wear a cheese head all season.” He laughed until the shaking of his shoulders was no longer from mirth but a dry, hacking cough.

  “Help me get him back to bed, will ya?” Becky nodded her head in Mr. Sawyer’s direction.

  Becky brought over a wheelchair, and I slid one arm around Mr. Sawyer’s shoulders and the other under his knees. My heart dropped at his light weight. I glanced at Becky and tried to block her view as I placed her grandfather in the wheelchair. She was still riding a high from a team victory. She didn’t need a reminder of the present reality.

  Once Mr. Sawyer was comfortably in bed, we climbed back into her truck to head home. Home. I rolled the word around in my mind. When had Becky’s house become home? It felt good.

  “So you ready to trade in your blue for crimson? Join a winning team?” Becky glanced at me with a cheeky grin before returning her focus to the road.

  “I’m not a fair-weather fan. Win or lose, I’m in it for the long haul.” I looked over and inspected her profile. A becoming blush tinged her cheeks. She’d caught my double entendre.

  “I’m a size large, by the way.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice squeaked.

  “The bet. I guess my new Sunday uniform will be sporting Kaepernick’s name on the back.”

  The rumble of the truck died as Becky killed the engine. As we walked toward the house, I wrapped my hand around her small one. She looked up at me, and I winked. I opened the door and let Becky walk through. The door closed behind me, and Becky’s rain jacket fell to the ground. A crumpled piece of paper tumbled out of the pocket. What was that? I bent to pick up the paper, and Becky lunged at me.

  “I got it!”

  Too late. I’d already seen what was written on the note, and my heart iced over faster than the shores of Lake Michigan in December.

  21

  Rebekah

  “IT’S NOT WHAT you think.”

  “And what is it that I think?” Luke’s jaw pulsated.

  “It’s nothing, Luke.” I reached out to touch his arm, but he took a half step back. “There’s no reason to get so upset.”

  “No reason?” He waved the paper in my face. “Becky, have you even read this note?”

  “Of course I’ve read it.” And it scared me to death, but there was no way I was going to tell him that.

  “Obviously you haven’t if you think it’s nothing. Let me refresh your memory. ‘Horse thieves should be lynched.’ Lynched, Becky. And you think it’s nothing?”

  “It’s probably just teenagers out for a good laugh. I’ve never stolen anything in my life, much less a horse.”

  The tension radiating off Luke could be picked up by a Geiger counter. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was regarding me with a look that made me want to go hide behind the couch.

  “Were you even going to tell me about it?”

  The question sounded more like an accusation.

  My first instinct was to say, yes, of course, as soon as we got home. But it was a lie, and I could feel my own defenses rise in the face of his disapproval.

  “No, I wasn’t going to tell you, because it’s nothing.” I crossed my arms and scowled. “Just a silly little prank by some bored teenagers.”

  If Luke had been a cartoon, his face would have been beet red and steam would have been coming out of his ears. As it was, his nostrils flared and his jaw ticked. I waited for the explosion.

  “Well, that’s just fine, little miss independence.” Sarcasm and anger mixed in his voice. “You just keep your little secrets and keep telling yourself it’s you against the world. As a matter of fact, I have a secret of my own. But, unlike you, I was planning on telling you mine. I was waiting for the right time, but, like they say, there’s no time like the present.” He practically stomped the two short steps to the table, reached in h
is back pocket, and withdrew an envelope and threw it on the table. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door in his wake.

  I sunk onto the couch and blew out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. That hadn’t gone well at all. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure why Luke was in such a huff. Granted, when I’d found the note on top of the feed bins that morning, it had scared me too, but I truly believed what I’d told Luke. It was no big deal. Just some prank. I wasn’t in any real danger. And it wasn’t his problem anyway.

  My justifications finished, I allowed my curiosity to take over. Inching over to the edge of the couch, I took the envelope off the table. Turning it over, I opened the flap, and two tickets fell onto the floor. I leaned over and picked them up, reading them as I settled back into the couch again, tucking my legs underneath me.

  My hand flew to my mouth.

  Luke had bought tickets to the Sacramento Ballet Company’s production of Swan Lake. How did he know about my obsession with ballet? I looked to the door, willing him to open it and step through. I wanted to apologize for our misunderstanding and say thank you for such a gift. Ballet tickets. I was finally going to go see a real ballet.

  But Luke didn’t step through the doorway. I guess he needed more time to cool off. In the meantime, I had horses to feed. Maybe I’d run across him on my way to the barn.

  I scanned the yard between the house and barn, but the only living things I saw were Lady and the squirrel she’d chased up a tree. The horses trotted to the fence line and nickered at me.

  “Hey, ol’ boy,” I crooned as I stroked Samson on his broad forehead. He shoved my chest with his nose.

  “Okay, okay, I hear ya. No need to get pushy. I’ll be right back with dinner, your highness.”

  I grabbed the wheelbarrow by the barn and pushed it over to the lean-to that housed the hay. The bale I had opened that morning was nearly gone, so I climbed up the bales I had stacked as stairs to reach the top of the pile. When I reached the pinnacle, I gasped.