The Quotable Evans

by Richard Paul Evans

  Of course I was familiar with both stories.

  “There are recorded instances of prophetic dreams in secular history as well. Abraham Lincoln had a dream that he walked into the Oval Office to find a wake in progress. When he asked a soldier who had died, he was told that the president had been killed by an assassin. Ten days later Lincoln was assassinated in Ford’s Theatre.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” I said. “This dream of mine . . . it seems to be headed somewhere.”

  She looked at me thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your dream. I’ve had an interesting idea. Would you consider walking part of the route?”

  “What part?”

  “It doesn’t really matter except that it looks like what you’re seeing in your dream. Just walk it. See what happens. It might help release your mind from whatever it’s stuck on. Ultimately, what you’re experiencing is fear. And usually the best way to remove the fear of something is to confront it head on. I think to actually walk the road might bring you relief.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  She grinned. “Then you’ve had a nice walk. It certainly won’t hurt you. I think that if everyone walked an hour a day, half the mental illness in this country would disappear.”

  I considered her request. “I can do that,” I said. “I was already planning on driving it.”

  She looked at me with surprise. “You were?”

  “A few months ago I planned a trip on Route 66 with a few friends. We’re going to drive the route on Harleys.”

  Her look of surprise deepened. “You didn’t tell me that. Was that before or after your dreams started?”

  I had to think about it. “I think it was a few days after.”

  “Do you think your dreams might have something to do with the trip?”

  “I have no idea.” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Too much to think about. “I better let you get on with your Saturday. Thank you for coming in.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck on your tour.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to need it.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “About six weeks.”

  “Would you like to schedule an appointment for when you get back?”

  “Yes, but I better wait a few weeks to see how things are going. Sometimes we end up extending these things.”

  She walked me to the office’s outer door. “Go ahead. I need to lock up in here.”

  “Thanks again. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  She smiled at me. “Good luck on your journey,” she said.

  Later, I wondered why she had used the word journey. She was so in tune. It made me wonder if, on some level, she knew what was to come.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  My life is spent in details.

  —CHARLES JAMES’S DIARY

  MONDAY, MAY 2

  There were a million details I needed to tend to before I left on tour. Both at home and at work. The conference center in Boston had scheduled the wrong room, reserving a hall for us that could accommodate only seventy-five people. They had already booked the grand ballroom for another event, forcing us to either cancel or scramble to find a new venue. Fortunately, the Boston advertising hadn’t started yet.

  Amanda, Glenn, and I ate lunch in the conference room while we went line by line down each event to ensure that we had the right location and the right marketing, personnel, and product. Six weeks, forty-two days, twenty-one cities, round and round we go. There’s a reason they call it a whirlwind tour.

  We finished our meeting after seven thirty. Amanda and Glenn invited me to join them for dinner but I still had too much to do before leaving. I had been inside for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that it had been raining, though it was only a light mist as I walked out to the parking garage.

  I drove home and packed. My phone kept ringing with last-minute questions, many of which had no urgency. I’m going on a sales tour, not dying, I thought. After the fifth call I shut off my phone.

  I left a mess for my cleaners. I wrote them a note reminding them to reset the home alarm after they left.

  I didn’t get everything done I wanted to, but worse case, I had Amanda. She wasn’t joining me until the end of the second week. She had a key to my house and the code to my alarm. Anything I missed she could take care of.

  Around midnight I turned my phone back on so I’d be notified if there was a change in flights. I was too keyed up to sleep, so I went to my home theater and began channel surfing. I ended up watching an old musical called Finian’s Rainbow before dragging myself to bed at around three in the morning.

  The truth was, as much as I needed it, I was afraid to go to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. I was terrified of having the dream.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It begins.

  —CHARLES JAMES’S DIARY

  TUESDAY, MAY 3

  I had the dream again. It was the most horrific version yet. And the most lucid. The sirens and screaming were so loud that I knelt on the broken road and covered my ears. That’s how I was positioned when I woke, crouched into a ball with my hands over my ears. For the first time I woke myself screaming.

  After meeting with Dr. Fordham I had looked up the story of Abraham Lincoln dreaming of his own death. Those close to the president said that after the dream he was deeply troubled—all the way up to his assassination less than two weeks later. That’s exactly how I felt. Deeply troubled. I still had no idea what I was supposed to do with it. But I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse.

  I looked over at the clock. It was nine thirty. It was dark for so late in the morning. I got up and looked out the window. The sky was overcast. The street in front of my house was wet but it wasn’t raining. I went for my phone but it wasn’t in my room. I’d left it in front of the television.

  As I walked downstairs, the sound of thunder reverberated through the house. I hated flying on days like this. I poured myself a glass of apple juice and went to the theater. My phone was on the floor. I’d forgotten to charge it. I picked it up and turned it on. The battery life was down to 7 percent. There was a text from Amanda.

  Call me when you can

  I checked the phone and saw that I had missed several of her calls. I pressed her entry in my contacts. Amanda answered on the first ring. “You turned your phone off again?”

  “I left it in the other room.”

  “Do you still want me to drive you to the airport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you coming in before you go?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “If you have time, it would be good for you to talk to the troops before you leave. It always gets them fired up.” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Please.”

  I really didn’t want to, but Amanda rarely made requests, and I hated to deny them when she did. “All right. Give me an hour. I’m not dressed yet.”

  Amanda pulled into my driveway at a quarter past eleven. Her white BMW was beaded with water. I lugged my largest suitcase out the front door as she came up my walkway.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I got caught in a downpour just outside the city. Can I help you with something?”

  “I still need to get my backpack and lock up. You can drag this behemoth to your car. If you can.”

  She looked at the bag. “Yikes. You usually pack light. Why are you taking such a big suitcase?”

  “I’m carrying sales contracts,” I said. “They almost ran out in Toledo and don’t have enough for Cincinnati.”

  “That’s a good thing,” she said.

  “Yes, that’s a good thing.”

  I went into the house and got my backpack, then set the alarm and walked out, locking the dead bolt. Amanda was standing behind the suitcase near the open trunk of her car.

  “I can’t lift it,” she said.

  “I’ll get it.” As I walked to the car, I said, “By the way, I’ve set the alarm. Just in case y
ou need to get in.”

  “Only if I have to.”

  “You probably will,” I said. “I probably left something on.”

  It started raining again as we drove downtown. Amanda asked, “How are you feeling about things?”

  “Optimistic,” I said. “It’s our biggest tour ever. We’ve got our best product.”

  “I think this will be our best year ever. What’s the goal?”

  “Fifty-seven million.”

  “You might be able to live off that.”

  “If I wasn’t paying so many people,” I said.

  “Maybe you should try going on tour without so many people,” she replied.

  “You’ve gotten snarky,” I said.

  She grinned. “I’ve learned from the best.”

  We hit the early lunch traffic, and with the rain, it took us nearly an hour to make the office. As we went up in the elevator, Amanda said, “The troops are assembled in the conference room.”

  “All right. I need to hit my office. I’ll see you there.”

  I went into my office and plugged my phone into the wall to charge it, then walked out to the conference room. I could see people through the frosted glass but they weren’t moving. The door was shut. Something was up. I reached down and opened the door.

  “Surprise!” My staff broke into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.”

  When they finished, I said, “The surprise is it’s not my birthday.”

  “I know,” Amanda said. “But you’ll be on the road when it is, and we wanted to celebrate with you.”

  “You think of everything.”

  “It’s my job.”

  There was a large double-chocolate fudge cake with chocolate buttercream frosting and brown-butter almond brittle ice cream from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams.

  “That’s my favorite ice cream,” I said.

  “I know,” Amanda said.

  I got some cake and ice cream, then stayed in the room just long enough to eat and thank everyone. By the time I finished, it was time to leave for the airport. I said good-bye and went to my office. I logged out of my computer and unplugged my phone. It now had only 2 percent battery life. “Amanda.”

  She walked into my office. “Yes?”

  “I’ve had my phone plugged in for the last hour, but it didn’t charge.”

  “Which outlet did you use?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Something’s wrong with the outlets along the south wall. I already called the landlord. Maintenance is coming tomorrow to fix them.”

  “That would have been good information to have an hour ago.”

  “I’m sorry. We can charge it on the way to the airport. We need to leave. It’s raining buckets out there.”

  I slipped my phone into my coat pocket. “What airline am I flying out on?”

  “United,” she said. Before I could ask she said, “Delta didn’t have any first-class seats available. Will you drive?”

  As I signaled to pull out of the parking garage, I handed Amanda my cell phone. “Will you charge that?”

  “Of course. Where’s your charger?”

  I glanced over at her. “In my car. You don’t have one?”

  “I don’t have the same phone as you. I have a Samsung.”

  I groaned. “Who needs a phone?”

  About fifteen minutes later Amanda’s phone beeped indicating a text message. “Your flight’s delayed a little.”

  “How little?”

  “Twelve minutes.”

  “That’s good. I won’t have to trample people in the security line.”

  The drive to O’Hare from downtown Chicago is about eighteen miles, but with the rain and traffic it took us almost an hour, eliminating the extra time I thought I’d have. I pulled Amanda’s car up to the curb outside the departures door of the United terminal.

  “I want you to change my hotel from the Cincinnatian to the Millennium.”

  “You love the Cincinnatian. It’s a classic hotel.”

  “The last time I was there it took me a half hour to check in. Make sure I’m on the concierge level. I think it’s the seventh floor.”

  “It’s the eleventh floor. And this time of the year they’re probably sold-out. But I know the manager. I’ll see what I can do. If they don’t have a suitable room, do you still want to stay at the Cincinnatian?”

  “Fine, just don’t forget to text me. I don’t want to get there and not know where I’m going.”

  “Your phone’s dead, remember?”

  I shook my head. “Right. I’ll try to charge it before I fly. Does my plane have power outlets?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know. Do you want me to check?”

  “No, if I can’t charge it, I’ll call you from a pay phone. If you see a number you don’t recognize—”

  “I’ll look for the Cincinnati area code.”

  As I reached for the door latch she said, “Wait, I have some cash for you.” She dug into her purse and brought out a bank envelope. “There’s three thousand.”

  “Why so much?”

  “The temp company we employed in Indiana wants to be paid in cash. It’s around seventeen hundred. And I put in a little extra for you. For tips and such.”

  “Thank you.” I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and put the envelope in it. Then I pushed the button on the console that opened the trunk, and I got out of the car. Amanda likewise got out and walked around to the back of her car as I pulled the bag out.

  “That thing’s going to give you a hernia,” she said. “Just don’t collect anything. Have a good show. I’ll meet you in a couple of weeks.”

  “Thanks.” I slammed shut the trunk and we briefly embraced. She actually looked sad that I was leaving. “Keep the home fires burning,” I said.

  “I always do. Have a good tour. Knock ’em dead.”

  “I always do,” I replied. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

  Amanda got back in her car. I waved to her as she pulled away from the curb, merging back into the flow of traffic like a fish thrown back into a river.

  I suddenly felt alone. I took a deep breath. “There is no God but me.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  In spite of my best efforts to the contrary, someone saved my life today.

  —CHARLES JAMES’S DIARY

  The airport was crowded, even by O’Hare standards. Lightning had delayed a few flights and the typical domino effect was in play, changing flight times and turning people into raving lunatics as they missed their connections.

  Fortunately, my flight from Chicago to Cincinnati was nonstop and just a little more than an hour long. I checked my bag at the ticket counter and got a paper boarding pass. I usually used my phone to check in but it was now completely dead.

  The security line seemed to move in slow motion. To further add to my delay, TSA randomly pulled my bag off the conveyor and ran it through one of their bomb-sniffing machines before returning it to me. By the time I got to my gate there was already a large crowd gathered in the corridor while passengers from the incoming flight emerged from the Jetway.

  The gate agent, an older woman with dyed black hair, made an announcement. “For those waiting for Flight 227 to Cincinnati, we are still hoping for as close to an on-time departure as possible. Once we have finished disembarking our incoming passengers, we will begin boarding immediately. We will begin with parents traveling with infants and those needing extra assistance boarding. Please have your tickets ready.”

  I considered walking up to the priority lane to wait but decided instead to pick up a charger for my phone. There was a gift shop just two gates down the terminal.

  I found a portable charger for my phone and then, figuring I had plenty of time for the mob to board, I perused the magazines. I ended up with a copy of the Robb Report, USA Today, a couple of energy shots, and a bag of gummy candy.

  There was a long line in the store and just one open cash register. When I got back to my gate I
was surprised to find the line gone. I guess they really were serious about that on-time departure. The gate agent, who still had a line at her counter, lifted a microphone to her mouth.

  “This is the final boarding call for Flight 227 to Cincinnati. All passengers should be boarded at this time. Mr. Yin Cheng and Mr. Charles James, please report immediately to the check-in gate. Your flight has boarded and we will be closing the boarding door. Mr. Yin Cheng and Mr. Charles James, please report immediately to the check-in gate.”

  “I’m here,” I said, raising my hand.

  She left the counter, walking over to the podium. “Are you Mr. Cheng or Mr. James?”

  “Did you really ask that?” I said, handing her my ticket.

  She didn’t smile. On a flight day like today, she was past snide. “There you go, Mr. James. Thank you for your Premier status. Have a good flight.”

  “Thank you.”

  I walked down the Jetway. There were at least a dozen passengers near the end of the corridor waiting to board and a crewman was still gathering the carry-on baggage that people had left outside the plane’s entrance. That’s when I realized I didn’t have my backpack. I figured that I must have left it back at the gift shop. With my computer and the large amount of cash in it, if it wasn’t already stolen, it soon would be. I turned around and ran back down the Jetway.

  The boarding door was still open, and as I walked out of the Jetway, the gate agent was back at the counter helping a disgruntled customer.

  I unsuccessfully tried to get her attention, then decided it would be faster to just retrieve my pack. As I ran to the store I watched the people emerging from it to see if anyone had my pack. No one did.

  I frantically walked around the store but couldn’t find my pack. There were four people in line with only one employee at the counter—a different woman from the one who had just helped me. I walked ahead of the line to the other side of the cash register.

  “Excuse me, miss, but my flight’s literally leaving in two minutes. Did someone turn in a backpack?”

  The female clerk slowly glanced up at me. “I don’t know. I just got here.” She went back to scanning another customer’s purchases.