He looked like the man she remembered, as real as ever he’d been. She looked like …
She stole a look at herself in the rearview mirror.
Do you remember, my love? All the years, all the seasons, all the changes we went through? These are what brought us to this day, this is who we really are, and this is where we belong. Do you see it that way?
Dane approached as the doves lit on the car roof, their feet tap-tap-tapping on the metal. He gazed at her through the window, put his fingertips on the glass. She placed her fingertips against his from the other side. They had the time, so they took it to look at each other.
She was alive. Beautiful and unafraid.
He placed his hand on the door handle. The latch clicked. He eased the door open, she swung her feet out, and then she stood with no glass, no door, no barrier between them.
She’d made it to Idaho.
“Well …” he said, drinking in the sight of her. This was she, the woman he’d loved for forty years.
Six-oh, she thought. Of course. He was supposed to be sixty and now it didn’t seem one bit strange to her. She was feeling kind of sixtyish herself and it wasn’t so bad, just a month or two older than she was before. It fit.
“Well …” she said back with a little smile, but thought, Go ahead, touch me.
* * *
He extended his hand. Maybe she’d touch him and see he was real, or he’d touch her …
She took his hand in hers and covered it with her other hand.
She was real, as real as ever she’d been.
They embraced, and from there they got to know each other again, taking it slow, feeling it new, savoring the hours as on their very first night.
chapter
* * *
54
Her soul at peace, Mandy slept until midday, then rose, showered, and slipped into Dane’s blue robe. It was warm and comfortable, and there was just something commemorative about it: she’d worn it right after he rescued her the first time. The thrill of it was, she didn’t have wet clothes in the dryer and, just as on their first day married, she would never have to leave.
Dane must have heard her stirring about. As she emerged from the bedroom he came up the stairs carrying a latte for himself and a mocha for her, brewed in their same old trusty coffeemaker.
“Oh, thank you, kind sir.”
“But of course.”
He’d pulled on his jeans and a pair of slippers. She took a second look at him, something she’d been doing since she got here.
“What?” he asked.
“You are so hairy!”
“Why, thank you.”
“When we first got married you had maybe two hairs on your chest.”
He shrugged and sipped from his latte. “Have you seen my ears lately?”
He settled into a chair in the loft. There was a sweeping view of the valley behind him, but he wouldn’t stop looking at her.
She went to the east windows, admiring the view, recalling raking and sweeping out the barn, cleaning out the shop, all the work on this place … and all the snow, Lord have mercy! She certainly had the energy back then.
“So,” she ventured, “what are we going to do? I mean, how do we tell the world I’m alive again?”
He put on a very typical deep-in-thought expression. “Well, we could borrow from Mark Twain and say the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated.”
She smiled, enjoying the smell of the mocha beneath her nose. “I suppose.”
He smiled back and sipped from his coffee. “I’m making a list.”
“I still have a coat I borrowed from a nurse in the Behavioral Health Unit. We need to put that on the list, get that back to her.”
“That’ll be the easy part.”
Okay. She felt better. “Oh, and I’ve been meaning to say”—he waited, clearly enjoying the sight of her—“it sure means a lot to me that you didn’t fall for a younger woman.”
She could see the twinkle in his eye before he said it. “And go through menopause all over again?”
She could have given him a slick comeback, but something caught her eye …
A girl running through the pasture toward the house, staggering, falling, getting up again, reaching desperately.
“What is it?” he asked, but then he froze at the sight of her just as she remained transfixed by the sight out the window. “Ohhh, man. Déjà vu. You see her, don’t you?”
It was … well, of course. It was the girl who’d been looking in the mirror, the child who so desperately wanted to be her. “Oh, keep running, little one. Keep running.”
Dane stood beside her, put his arm around her. “Don’t you worry. She’s going to be just fine.”
The image in the pasture dissolved like a wisp of steam, and then it was just the two of them.
a note from the author
* * *
Of course I’ve been asked, “What’s the book about?” and it’s never been quite enough to answer, “A love story about two illusionists who are separated by death but not really, not yet, and their quest to find each other and be reunited.” That’s a nice encapsulation, but it doesn’t express the heart of the story.
A better answer would be found in the symbolism and thematic elements:
• Being lost in this weird and sinful world, trying to discover who we are and where we belong;
• The deception and lure of this world that we overcome as we reach for heaven, our home;
• The comforting presence of the Holy Spirit and His quiet assurances that we have a place in this world as well as a holy and eternal destination;
• Our longing and lifelong quest as the bride of Christ to be united with Jesus, our bridegroom.
And I need to add a personal, heart-level reflection: For me, the story is about Barb, my dear wife and best friend for forty years, and the mystery, tenacity, beauty, and wonder of our love from the day we met until now. Building the story and developing its themes were a matter of mind and creativity, but it was our love that drove it, that gave it life. Thinking about Dane and Mandy, I thought about us, and not only that, I also found a new appreciation for what our marriage symbolizes. After all, what is the Gospel if not the story of our savior wooing us to Himself and that relentless, unutterable longing that makes us reach across our years and through our limitations to find Him? For me, that’s the heart of it. That’s where I live.
So I suppose this tale is a fictional tribute to love as God made it, and by that, an illustration of how beautiful the love between ourselves and our Lord can be. It’s a story worth telling, always. Thank you for sharing it with me.
Blessings.
Frank E. Peretti
acknowledgments
* * *
Every time I do a novel, there are friends around to help me with the details. It’s fun to see such learned and professional people dive headlong into making up and telling a story, and I always get an education in the process.
Special thanks to …
Dr. Paul Brillhart, a wonderful brother in the Lord and an avid storyteller himself, who has enthusiastically helped me injure, kill, hospitalize, treat, and heal a host of characters in believable ways in two novels so far.
Teirza Bristow, a genuine emergency room nurse who talked me through every detail of ER procedure in a case like Mandy’s.
Dr. James Kirby, who gave me a fascinating telephone tour of a real behavioral health unit and provided an abundance of details on how a case like Mandy’s might be handled. Of course, the people and facility Mandy encounters in the story are fictionalized and have to be passive bad guys. Dr. Kirby, his staff, and their facility are a lot nicer!
The one and only Tony Brent, magician and comedian, who gave me so much of his valuable time to talk about the performance and business of magic. Keep an eye out for him, Google him, be sure to catch his show; he’ll keep you amazed and in stitches at the same time. All the best, my friend!
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
08 Illusion Page 52
