Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series

by Paula Wiseman

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Each of us lives out our lives in one of those little pictures. God sees the whole mosaic, and He ordains how each of those little pictures fits together. You and I, because we can’t see the big picture, we struggle to understand what it all means. When we run up against things like why weren’t Laurie and I given a chance to be parents, or why God called Brad home, there’s just no discernable answer.”

  “Or why does Bobbi has to go through so much?”

  “Perfect example. None of it makes sense, and we’ll never get a satisfactory reason for the ‘why.’”

  “But what about sin? How does that affect the picture? God doesn’t ordain sin.”

  “I’d say it affects the little picture quite a bit, but God brings it around in the little picture so that it still fits in its place in the mosaic.”

  “Shannon and I are different pictures?”

  Glen nodded. “Yeah, I think everybody gets his own picture.”

  “But if our sins affect innocent people, your analogy fails. How can the pictures affect each other, and remain discreet at the same time?”

  Glen rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m making this analogy up as I go. It’s not perfect.”

  “Even so.”

  “Lemme think a minute.” He stared past Chuck for a moment, then nodded slowly. “What if the mosaic deals less with the actual events, but more with our responses to them?”

  “Keep going.”

  “When you sin, you choose how you respond to that. You can repent. You can deny it. Whatever. Our little picture reflects our responses to the whole gamut of situations God allows us to experience. Our sins, the sins against us, random events that don’t fit anywhere, they all shape us. God keeps throwing events at us, allowing things in our lives—including the fallout from the sins of other people—to get us where He wants us.”

  “What if we fail? He allowed Tracy to cross my path and I failed.”

  “Bound and determined to blame yourself, aren’t you? You think when you were with Tracy that God was surprised? That you caught Him off-guard?”

  “No, but—”

  “Either God can work around us and through us in spite of everything, or I need to turn in my preacher Bible.”

  Chuck closed his eyes for a moment and tapped the armrest, absorbing everything Glen said. Everything he’d done to change, to make up for his sin, it was part of a process. His picture wasn’t done yet. So he still had hope. “I knew you’d know the answer,” Chuck said at last.

  “Hallelujah.” Glen smiled and pushed his chair back from the desk. “I don’t know if it’s the answer, but it’ll get you out of here so I can go eat lunch.”

  “Seriously, you make a lot of sense, Glen. It gives me a lot to think about and pray about.”

  “That’s where you’ll get the real answer.”

  * * *

  Jack parked Brad’s car beside the schoolyard at Stoneburner Elementary. A half dozen guys, three without shirts, were playing a pick-up basketball game. He quickly spotted Dylan Snider, wearing mirrored sunglasses with his T-shirt tucked in the back of his shorts. Jack blew out a deep breath and wiped his palms on his jeans. His one chance.

  He got out of the car, leaned against the fender and waited. He wanted to talk to Dylan without the audience, figuring that would increase his chances of getting a straight answer, plus one-to-one odds were way better than six-to-one.

  Moments later, Dylan bounced the ball behind him and shuffled toward Jack. “What do you want, Josh?”

  “It’s Jack.” He crossed his arms across his chest, doing his best impression of the cops who questioned him about Brad. Jack was taller and heavier than Dylan, and he hoped that mattered. “When was the last time you talked to Shannon?”

  “Not since we went out Friday night.”

  Now Jack understood why Dylan needed the sunglasses. It made it easier to lie. “Shannon disappeared sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning. We’re trying to do all we can to find her before we bring in the police.” Jack was bluffing, not lying. There was a difference.

  “Sorry, can’t help you.” Dylan turned to walk away.

  “I thought you might be concerned. Girl out there somewhere, all alone.”

  “Oh, she’s not a girl anymore,” Dylan said. “Not after last night.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dylan took a step toward Jack, laid a hand on his shoulder and sneered. “Someday when you’re a man, you’ll understand.”

  Jack brushed the hand off and jabbed Dylan in the chest with his index finger. “So help me, if you touched her . . .”

  Absorbed by his outrage, Jack never saw the windup. Dylan landed a quick punch in Jack’s stomach, and a second one on the left side of his mouth.

  Jack doubled over and gasped for his next breath as salty blood seeped in between his lips. Dylan hissed, “There’s no ‘if’ about it. Go home, Jack. Get over it.”

  Chapter 9

  Unfulfilled

  Bobbi swung her feet down from the love seat and slid to the opposite end. Except for quick trips to the bathroom or the kitchen to refill her coffee cup, she’d spent the last twelve hours clutching the phone and whispering desperate prayers for it to ring. So far the prayers hadn’t been answered.

  Yesterday was a long, hard day for Shannon, too. She was still a teenager. She still slept until noon from time to time. It wasn’t time to panic yet. Maybe Shannon was afraid Chuck would answer. Or Jack. Maybe she was waiting until Monday to call, until her dad and brother weren’t home.

  Unless she was hurt.

  Or worse.

  No, it couldn’t be worse. God wouldn’t ask that of her. He knew she could handle anything else but that. God would be merciful. He was just that way. She hoped. She sipped her coffee, then closed her eyes and held the phone to her cheek. “Please, dear God. Just a phone call. A phone call will get me through today.”

  But the phone never rang. She set her coffee on the end table behind her, then slouched a little lower in the seat. At some point, she dozed off until she felt a touch on her arm.

  “How are you doing?” Chuck asked quietly as he sat down beside her. At least he had the good sense not to mention the phone call that hadn’t come.

  “When I start to feel things again, I’ll let you know.” She reached for her coffee cup and took a sip, and grimaced. Room temperature coffee, ugh. “How was church?”

  “I talked to Glen for a little while.” He reached for her, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want comfort. “He said we should ask Gavin what to do about Shannon.”

  “If Gavin knew, he would’ve already told us.” Bobbi left the loveseat, paced to the window and stared down the empty street. “We’re stuck, aren’t we? Until she decides to come home, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “I don’t know that we’ve exhausted everything yet.”

  “What if she doesn’t show up for work Monday? Then is she a missing person?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know.”

  She whipped around to face him. “For crying out loud, Chuck! You’re a lawyer. Don’t you know what the law says?” It came out angrier and more frustrated than he deserved.

  “I don’t do criminal law. I’d have to look it up.”

  He responded gently, with more grace than she showed him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Where’s Jack?”

  “He said he had something to do before he came home.” Chuck glanced at his watch. “He ought to be here just any time.”

  “You probably should take him to get some lunch. I don’t have anything ready, and I doubt there’s anything to cook.”

  “Will you go?”

  He’d lost his mind. There was no way, not as long as Shannon . . . “No, thank you.”

  “Will you eat if I bring you something back?”

  She couldn’t. “I’m not—”

  Then the phone rang. She charged to the loves
eat and snatched up the phone. Chuck took her hand as she clicked it on. “Hello?”

  “Aunt Bobbi, I talked to Shannon just now.” It was Katelyn.

  Crushing disappointment pressed tears from her eyes, and she slowly shook her head so Chuck knew. Focus. Katelyn talked to Shannon. She had information. She wanted to help. That was more than anyone else had right now.

  “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “She’s okay. I mean, she’s not injured or anything. But she wouldn’t tell me where she was. I said I’d go get her—”

  “What else did she say?”

  “Not much, and she won’t pick up now. She said to tell you she was sorry, but she couldn’t come home.”

  “Why not?”

  “She wouldn’t say. Just that it had to be this way.”

  “Did you tell her about her dad?”

  “Yes! I told her she needed to come home, and Uncle Chuck had chest pains and everything, but it was no use. And I’ve called back every five minutes.”

  “Sweetie, listen to me, when you talk to her again . . .” When. Not if. When. “When you talk to her, I will do anything to get her home. You make whatever promises you have to.”

  “But Aunt Bobbi—”

  “No limits, Katelyn. Whatever it takes. And can you conference me on the next call?”

  “Sure.”

  “You have my cell?”

  “Yes, but there’s something you need to know. Things . . . things have changed since she left.”

  “What things?”

  “She’s not mad at Uncle Chuck anymore. She’s ashamed to come home—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell her, Katelyn, I don’t care what it is. It doesn’t matter.”

  “But she—”

  “It. Does. Not. Matter. I will go anywhere. I will do anything. I need her home.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep trying to get her.”

  Bobbi nodded and clicked off the phone. “Katelyn talked to her.” She felt Chuck’s arm around her and she let him guide her down to the loveseat. “She says she can’t come home. She’s ashamed.”

  “You said exactly what she needs to hear.” He gave her a little squeeze.

  “If she’s listening.” She tried to smile as she patted his knee. “She’s a lot like her daddy. No matter how many times we tell him something’s not his fault, he still blames himself.”

  She heard the front door open and Jack’s footsteps on the stairs. “There’s Jack.”

  “Speaking of blaming himself,” Chuck said. “It would help him out if you went to eat with us.”

  Help Jack. Cling to what she had left. That was her only option right now. “Someplace not too busy,” Bobbi said.

  Chuck kissed her cheek. “I’ll go get Jack.”

  * * *

  By the time Chuck made it upstairs, Jack had holed up in his bedroom. He knocked lightly on the door. “Hey, Jack, let’s take Mom out to eat.” No response. He leaned close and listened at the door. The only sounds were the air conditioner and a faint rustling. No, not rustling. Jack was crying.

  Chuck opened the door just wide enough to step through. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, his head hung almost low enough to touch his knees. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Jack shook his head and moaned. “I blew it, Dad. I blew it again.”

  “What are you talking about? Blew what?” Chuck sat on the bed beside his son.

  “I know who helped Shannon leave.” Jack wiped his eyes and glanced up, then quickly looked away. “I got the cell phone records. It was Dylan Snider.”

  The name stabbed through Chuck’s heart. Because he overreacted, he drove Shannon straight to the one person he didn’t want her near.

  “I thought if I could talk to him and find out where she was . . . I could get her home, and that would make up for everything.”

  “Make up for what?”

  Jack’s eyes darted to the floor several times as his jaw clenched and relaxed. Finally, he said, “For Brad.”

  “Son, I don’t know how much more plainly I can tell you. Brad’s death was not your fault. You handled it the absolute best way you could have. Nobody blames you.”

  “Shannon does.”

  “Shannon is wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He stood and leaned over his desk. “Dylan wouldn’t tell me anything. He said he hadn’t talked to her since Friday night.” He gripped the corners of the desk. “I could already see the look on Mom’s face when Shannon came home.”

  “She’ll come home.”

  “I wanted to make it happen.”

  When Chuck stood, he noticed Jack’s swollen lip. “What’d you do to yourself?”

  “Walked into a door,” Jack muttered and looked away.

  “Turn around here. Did that kid hit you?”

  Jack huffed and faced him. “He made a smart remark about Shannon, then I got mad.”

  “You hit him?”

  “I never had a chance.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?”

  “What?”

  Chuck smiled broadly at his son. “You’re willing to get punched in the mouth standing up for your sister after the way she’s treated you lately. You’re amazing, Jack.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a very big deal,” Chuck said. “It’s exactly the kind of thing Christ would do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, and it’s what Brad would’ve done.”

  “Brad . . . he would’ve, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Chuck winked at his son. “Come on. Mom’s waiting.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Jack said. “I gotta clean this up so Mom won’t notice.”

  “Good luck, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Not much gets past her.”

  * * *

  After a long, awkward lunch watching Bobbi and Jack pick at their food, Chuck needed a moment to regroup, to absorb what Jack had told him about Dylan Snider, and to come up with a plan.

  Certain that the heat and humidity would discourage anyone from following, he slipped out to the deck. He leaned on the railing and stared out across the backyard.

  God, where do I even begin . . .

  He heard the door slide open, and Bobbi joined him. “Thanks for going to lunch,” he said.

  “I could tell it really helped Jack,” she smirked. “So what’s he keeping from me?”

  She stepped up beside him and leaned her elbows on the rail, her forearm brushing against his. Even that touch energized him in a way she’d never understand. She loved him. She trusted him. She believed in him.

  “Jack found out who helped Shannon leave. It was the Snider boy.”

  “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.”

  Chuck took her hand in his. “Let me tell you about your son, though. He went to talk to this kid to find out where Shannon was. He wanted to bring her home all on his own. The boy made a smart remark about Shannon. Jack defended her, and the boy punched him.”

  “Why didn’t you guys tell me this earlier?”

  She pushed away from the rail, but Chuck tightened his grip on her hand. “The last thing he needs right now is his mother hovering over him. He didn’t want you to know at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he failed. He failed himself and he failed you.”

  “Me? How did he fail me?”

  “He wanted to fix things for you, and he wasn’t able to.”

  “Fix things for me? Am I that pathetic?”

  “Honestly?”

  She slumped back against the rail. “I don’t know how to do this, Chuck. I don’t know how to handle losing my children.”

  “You haven’t lost Shannon.”

  “She’s not here. She doesn’t want to be here. In some ways, that’s worse.”

  Chuck interlaced his fingers with hers. “It’s not you. I’m the one she’s mad at.”

  Bobbi drew up the corner of her mouth, trying to smile. She raised th
eir hands, turning her rings toward him. “We’re a package deal, remember?”

  “Thank God.” He kissed the back of her hand and risked adding to her burdens. “Glen and I discussed whether or not this was my fault, you know, like Shannon said.”

  Bobbi shook her head. “Chuck . . .”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m working on it.”

  “Glen said it wasn’t, right?”

  “Yeah, he was a lot of help, but I can’t let this paralyze me like it did yesterday. I can’t sit by while things fall completely apart. I’m going to go talk to the Snider kid in the morning. Maybe he’ll open up to me because I’m old.”

  “Oh dear God, please . . .”

  She was silent for several moments, praying Chuck suspected, then she took her free hand and wiped her eyes.

  “Now, here’s a perfect example of why I’m losing it. You tell me this, and I start to have some hope, and then in the back of my mind, I hear, ‘What about Jack?’ What will it do to him if you succeed where he failed? He’s so fragile right now.”

  “He’s still the hero. He tracked her to the Snider boy.” He leaned in closer. “And you’re not losing it. You want the best for everybody. It means you’re a good mother.”

  “And you’re a good father. There. I’ll believe you when you believe me.”

  * * *

  Monday, June 30

  Chuck started Bobbi’s coffee and quickly dialed Christine Gardner at home. She answered before the second ring.

  “Mr. Molinsky, what’s wrong?”

  She was good. After working together for twenty years, Christine knew him almost as well as Bobbi did. “I’m not going to be in today or tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Mr. Mitchell and I can handle things with the insurance people.”

  “I have no doubts, but something else came up. . . . If anyone asks, I was in the ER with chest pains Saturday night, and I’m doing a stress test in the morning.”

  “Mr. Molinsky!”

  “It’s no big deal. They said it was a muscle spasm.”