The Reason

by William Sirls

  “Yes, Charlie, he fixed it. He did a good job; I know.”

  He could feel Charlie shifting the twig in his open palm from flat to upright, flat to upright.

  It was clear that Charlie was struggling to understand how the cross was now standing before them after being in ruins just the day before.

  “Don’t worry, Charlie, fixing the cross is a good thing. The carpenter— it’s what he does, son. I’m not quite sure how he did it; I’m just glad he did.”

  Charlie kept lowering and tilting the twig in his hand.

  Jim let out a little laugh, admiring Charlie’s persistence. “I’m pretty sure you’re trying to tell me they fixed it real fast, huh, Charlie?”

  Behind them, he could hear the gravel stirring on Church Road.

  Brooke’s car was approaching the driveway to the church.

  MACEY WAS LOOKING OUT HER OFFICE WINDOW, HER eyes continuing to bounce off the roofs and bumpers of each and every vehicle in the parking lot as she once again searched for the old Ford pickup. Her heart began racing a bit in odd anticipation of spotting it, and she suddenly wondered if she really wanted to find it. The truth of the matter was that the idea of actually seeing the truck made her more than a little nervous. She was practically afraid.

  Only believe.

  “There’s some strange stuff going on around here, Kait.”

  “You’ve been pretty quiet,” Kaitlyn responded, sitting attentively on the couch, looking comfortable in her baby blue scrubs, the third-floor nurses’ assigned uniform of the day. “Is it Alex that’s getting to you?”

  “Among other things,” Macey said, catching herself sounding apologetic. “It’s just been a strange couple of days, that’s all.”

  “Speaking of strange,” Kaitlyn said, “I still can’t believe Zach called in sick.”

  “He called in late,” Macey said. “He’ll be in around noon.” Macey pictured the lost look on Zach’s face at The Pilot Inn. She was certain that he’d always been able to make sense of everything around him—until yesterday. She knew how he felt.

  “I couldn’t imagine him ever missing a whole day of work,” the nurse said.

  “Kaitlyn?” Macey asked faintly. She glanced down at her coffee-stained Nike, took another cautious look out the window, and peeked back down into the parking lot. “Has Zach ever mentioned the name Amy to you before?”

  “Amy? Not that I can recall. Why?”

  She turned around and crossed her arms. “Old girlfriend? Relative?”

  Kaitlyn opened a manila folder labeled “Alexander R. Thomas” and placed it neatly on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She seemed surprised. “Not that I know of. Why are you asking?”

  Macey dragged the chair from her desk over next to the couch and sat down. “Because I called him earlier, and he answered the phone by yelling ‘Amy’ at the top of his lungs. It actually scared me a little. It wasn’t like him.”

  “Amy?” Kaitlyn asked. “I don’t ever remember Zach even saying that name before.”

  Macey looked at her and nodded at the folder. “Aspiration tomorrow morning for Alex at six forty-five.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kaitlyn said, putting her pen down. She paused, then reached over and tapped Macey chidingly on the arm. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  “Do you know who Amy is? Was it someone he dated while he was seeing me or something?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea who Amy is,” she said, raising her hand and extending two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” She looked at Kaitlyn and couldn’t tell if her friend was more disappointed in Macey for not knowing who Amy was or in herself for allowing anything to do with Zach to actually bother her.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Kaitlyn said, grabbing the folder and fidgeting with it before opening it up. “It looks like our little redheaded cutie may be missing the church harvest party on Saturday.”

  “Let’s see how he responds to his first round of treatment,” Macey said. “I told Brooke that if he feels up to it, he can go.”

  “He might,” Kaitlyn said. “You can tell he’s going to be a little trouper.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “What about us?” Kaitlyn asked. “We still going? Or is it weird now?”

  “We said we would, so let’s,” Macey answered.

  “Sounds good,” Kaitlyn said, closing the folder and leaning back. “You know what, Macey?”

  “What?”

  “I know Amy wouldn’t be a relative. Zach is an only child, and I’ve met all his cousins.”

  Macey rolled her eyes and then grinned playfully at her friend. “Still not over him, are you? No matter how hard you protest?”

  “Oh, please,” Kaitlyn said, laughing unconvincingly. “Over what?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Charlie turned around and waved at Alex, wanting him to come. Now or never, Alex thought. But he didn’t like it.

  Charlie was way down the dirt path that went from behind the church and into the haunted woods.

  Alex had never been down the trail by himself, and walking any of it without Charlie protecting him didn’t seem like too much fun.

  Charlie lowered himself to one knee and opened his arms for him to come.

  Alex lifted his left foot and stepped tentatively onto the crackly leaves and dirt that marked the beginning of the path. He quickly pulled it back as if he’d just stepped in burning hot lava. He put his hands in his pockets and began to wiggle his toes in his tennies. He noticed that his shoes were getting tighter and tighter, but that was okay, because Mom said he’d be getting new ones pretty soon.

  As he continued to stare down the path at Charlie, he was beginning to feel more and more like a fraidy cat. Didn’t he just take a vow of courage with Nurse Kaitlyn? He promised he’d try his best not to be afraid of things. Promised. What would Nurse Kaitlyn say if she saw him now?

  ’Course, she didn’t know Looney Cooney was out here somewhere.

  Mrs. Kipler had said.

  Webster Cooney was a very scary man. Mrs. Kipler told Mom at church that Looney Cooney had gone nuts and was off his rocker. She also said that Looney Cooney drank water right out of the lake and that he also came out at night to kill animals with his bare hands to eat. But it all ended one night when Looney Cooney was drunk off his butt. That was the night when his house burned all the way to the ground with him still in it. And that was when she said the scariest thing of all!

  Even though Looney Cooney died, Mrs. Kipler said that people walking on the shore at night still saw him every once in a while, drinking from the lake and walking around in the woods. Alex knew it had to be true, because even though Looney Cooney’s house and rocker may have burned to the ground, every once in a while, when it was real windy outside, he could still hear the rocker creaking back and forth in the woods.

  Alex looked back up and noticed that Charlie had moved a few steps closer. He still wasn’t close enough, but Alex thought about going for it.

  But what if burned-up Looney Cooney is out there? What if he got up off his rocker and came and got me before Charlie could save me? What if . . .

  The longer he stared at the path, the more he thought that the leafless branches of all shapes and sizes leaning over the path were waiting—just waiting for him to move, waiting to reach down like bony little fingers to snatch him up and drag him into the darkness of the trees forever. He slowly lowered his head in despair, quietly hoping that Charlie wouldn’t be too disappointed.

  “Can you come get me, Charlie?” he pleaded, looking down at his tennies in defeat. “Please?”

  He couldn’t hear anything.

  He was afraid to look back down the path.

  And then he could hear the leaves moving. Charlie was coming.

  “I’m sorry for being a fraidy cat,” he said.

  Charlie lifted him to his shoulders, and Alex wrapped his arms around his neck. Alex was a little mad that he had called himself a
fraidy cat, but felt instantly brave with Charlie there. “Try to get me now, Looney Cooney!”

  Charlie ran really fast for a superlong time until they got to the spot in the woods that didn’t have any trees in it. Pastor Jim said that God carved it out like that. There wasn’t any wind there, but it was sunny. The grass was real long, and there was part of an old wooden picnic table that Pastor Jim started to make, but then he couldn’t see anymore and had to stop. Now that Looney Cooney was behind them, Alex began to drum playfully on top of Charlie’s head while telling Charlie about the hospital people.

  “Hey, Charlie,” he said. “Nurse Kaitlyn says that I’m going to be going to the hospital a lot.” He noticed that his hand was almost the exact same length as Charlie’s ear and smiled. “She showed me a cool trick where she can pull her finger off and put it back on.”

  Charlie stopped next to the old picnic table, lifted Alex off of his shoulders, and carefully set Alex on his feet on top of the lone bench.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Alex said. “Nurse Kaitlyn has puppets too. One of the puppets is called Mr. Brave. Nurse Kaitlyn says that I can be just like Mr. Brave if I want to be.”

  Charlie went into his pocket and pulled out his Tic Tac container.

  “I asked Nurse Kaitlyn if I was going to get a shot, and she said that even if I do, that Mr. Brave will be there with me, and that it will only hurt for a little bit, and that sometimes shots are good and not bad.” Alex paused and lifted his finger to his chin. “I think that’s what she said.”

  Charlie tapped out two Tic Tacs.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Alex said, snickering. He jumped off the table into the soft grass. “Pull my finger.”

  Charlie tugged on Alex’s index finger, and Alex farted, sending himself into a hysterical bout of laughter.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Alex said, still giggling. “You gotta try that one sometime.”

  “HOW LONG DID MACEY SAY IT WOULD BE BEFORE SHE thought Alex would be better?” James asked, sitting patiently at the kitchen table with Shirley and Brooke.

  “They’re going to start chemotherapy this week,” Brooke explained timidly. “And then test him weekly.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until he goes into remission,” Brooke said, covering her eyes with her hands. “Alex is going to be getting chemo. Can you believe this?”

  Shirley could see the drawn expression across Brooke’s face. She hadn’t worn any makeup that day, and she had a pair of light purple lines under her eyes that darkened with stress. Shirley put her hand on top of Brooke’s and said, “Why don’t you try to rest for a little bit?”

  “I can’t,” Brooke said.

  Shirley could tell James was having difficulty absorbing the news. He’d always been able to offer the right words of comfort in times of trouble. But this was hitting home—too close to home. She watched him close his eyes and knew he was silently asking God to help him find the right words.

  “Why me again, Pastor Jim?” Brooke asked, her voice without any trace of energy, and clearly defeated. “My parents—my life— now Alex. It’s not fair. It isn’t fair.”

  Shirley edged her chair closer to Brooke and put her arm around her.

  Brooke looked at Shirley, and Shirley could see the hopelessness in her eyes.

  James rested his hands on top of his Bible. “Brooke, it’s important that you understand something. God has a plan. And you and Alex are part of that plan. He will be there for you.”

  “Well,” Brooke said dryly, “I need him now. Right here, right now. Tell me, Pastor Jim. Where is he?”

  “We all need him,” Shirley said. “And though you may not feel it, he is here right now.”

  “What do I do?” Brooke asked, her voice starting to quiver. “Please tell me what to do.”

  “Only believe,” Shirley said.

  “Believe what?” Brooke asked, shaking her head in dismissal before getting up from the table. “That this, this is part of God’s plan?” She looked to the window and shook her head again.

  Shirley looked at James as if he was missing an unseen cue, but he had already risen to his feet. “You only need to trust in God.”

  “Trust in God?” Brooke shrieked. She said it in a way that Shirley didn’t like, but understood. “Why were my parents killed? Why would Alex have leukemia? Please tell me why. And I don’t want to hear about Peter, Paul, Job, or someone else right now. Tell me why.”

  James reached for Brooke’s hand, and she responded somewhat reluctantly. “Brooke,” he said.

  “What?” she said quickly.

  “Brooke,” he repeated. “You know that God doesn’t keep us from tests and trials.”

  “I never would have guessed, Pastor Jim,” she said sarcastically. “He doesn’t keep us from tests and trials? Really?”

  “No,” James answered, giving Brooke’s hand a little squeeze of encouragement. “He helps us get through them.”

  “Well, I don’t feel his help right now,” Brooke snapped. “Where? Where is he?”

  “Please,” Shirley said, standing up and holding both palms toward the ceiling as if she were holding up an invisible tray. “Just trust him, Brooke. God loves you more than you can imagine.”

  “I have to go,” Brooke said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “I’ll be back.”

  James lowered his voice. “Brooke, please. Shirley is right. Trust him, no matter how it feels.”

  Brooke shook her head. “I want to believe in everything you two are saying,” she said. “But this is a little much right now, okay?”

  “Honey,” Shirley said, “we know it’s hard for you right now. It’s hard for all of us.”

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” Brooke said again, heading quickly out of the kitchen and toward the front door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours—unless, you know, my car blows up.”

  “Brooke,” Shirley said. “That’s not what you have learned.”

  “Not now,” Brooke responded, her eyes starting to fill with tears. “What can we do?” James asked. “Tell us.”

  “Looks like nothing,” Brooke said, wiping her eyes and closing the door behind her.

  James bowed his head. “I didn’t know what to say, Shirley. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t find the words.”

  “Come here, James Lindy,” Shirley said, sitting back down at the kitchen table. He walked up next to her, and she grabbed his sleeve and lowered the side of her face to his arm. “We’re hurting too. It steals your breath, such news, let alone our words. And you know as well as anyone, James, all we can do is pray. Pray for Alex and pray for Brooke, and remind her to only believe that things will turn out.”

  James kissed Shirley on her cheek and walked out of the kitchen before making his way down the narrow hallway to the bedroom. Shirley walked slowly to the sink and turned the water on to rinse the morning dishes. She looked passively out the kitchen window and could see Brooke in her car, leaning against its steering wheel. It appeared that she was sobbing. “Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered.

  She shut the water off and turned around to head outside. When she looked up, she found James standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The blood in his fingers seemed to have rushed to his nails as he squeezed his Bible with both hands. His face was flushed, his eyes were squinting almost painfully, and Shirley noticed he seemed to be shaking.

  “James?” Shirley said, rushing toward him and grabbing his arms. “Your sugar.”

  “Shirley,” James said, his voice sounding weak and labored. “You just said it.”

  “James Lindy, you get on the couch right now!” Shirley pleaded, grabbing the phone off the wall. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  James reached out and found her arm. He took the phone from her and hung it back up. “My blood sugar’s fine.”

  “You’re shaking!”

  He turned around and ran haphazardly toward the front door and flung it open. “Brooke!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  �
�She’s in her car,” Shirley said, frowning and coming up beside him. Was he delirious?

  James let go of the door and hurried outside. When he hit the end of the porch, he missed the top step and fell hard to the ground, landing facedown, square on his elbows.

  “James!”

  He raised his head and quickly got to his knees, and then, slowly, to his feet. Shirley could tell he was struggling to catch his breath when he yelled again, “Brooke, wait!”

  “She’s pulling out of the driveway!” Shirley yelled, helplessly watching James run across the lawn, falling again and bouncing right back up while protecting his Bible like a running back not wanting to fumble the ball. She’d not seen him run in over a decade.

  “Brooke!” he screamed again.

  “James, you’re bleeding,” Shirley said, walking as fast as she could toward him on the lawn.

  “Brooke Thomas!” he bellowed.

  “What is it, James?” Shirley asked.

  He dropped back down to one knee to catch his breath. His pants had a tear at the other knee, and his elbow was bleeding. He lifted his head, wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve, and then turned his head toward her.

  “James?” Shirley said. “You’re a mess. What are you doing?”

  He slowly stood and held out his hand. Tentatively, Shirley took it. He inhaled deeply and leaned his head in the direction of the cross.

  “Only believe, Brooke!” he yelled.

  “She’s gone, James,” Shirley said. “She’s halfway down the road.”

  “Only believe,” he said again, letting go of her hand. He took a couple steps toward the driveway and stopped. Then he held his hands up in the air and turned around. He was smiling.

  “Only believe . . . and he . . . will be made well.”

  EIGHTEEN

  They were deep, deep, deep into the forest. Farther than they’d ever, ever gone, when they reached an old, rusted barbed wire fence. Alex’s skin got the goose bumps all over, and he rubbed his arms as he walked beside his big friend.

  He looked back down the path they’d come. “We better go back now, Charlie. Mom will be worried. But let’s go out to Church Road and walk down that, ’kay? I don’t wanna go back down the path.”