Lost Down Deep

by Sara Davison

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Part of Jude wished he would. The ache of a black eye or a broken nose would be preferable to this festering pain burning a hole in his stomach at the moment. His brother had never hit him, though. As tough as Cash came across, as much as he had always been the rock in the family—a wall of granite anyone else had to try and breach to reach any of them—he wasn’t prone to violence. Of course, Jude had never asked for it as badly as he had the night he abandoned his family.

  “I reserve the right to exercise that option at any point.” Cash uncrossed his arms, spun on his heel, and stalked away.

  Was that an invitation? Likely the warmest one he would get, anyway. Jude stepped in quickly and closed the door in case it wasn’t. He followed Cash into a small kitchen. Other than a microwave and toaster, the counters were bare and clean. His brother opened the fridge door, leaned in, and grabbed two bottles of beer between his fingers. When he turned back and looked at Jude, he grimaced. “On second thought…”

  He replaced the bottles, closed the fridge door, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off a shelf above the sink. He took a glass down from the cupboard, set it on the counter, and yanked the lid off the bottle. After splashing enough gold liquid in it to fill nearly half the glass, he snatched it up and held it out to Jude. “Drink?”

  Jude held up a hand and shook his head.

  His brother stared into the depths of the glass a moment. Then, with a heavy exhalation of breath, he set it back down on the counter with a thud. “You’re probably right—if we’re going to speak clearly, best if we can think clearly.”

  He crossed his arms again, the movement showcasing muscles rippling beneath his black T-shirt. “Well?”

  Jude swayed slightly and leaned a shoulder against the wall behind him. “I came to tell you how sorry I am.”

  “Twelve-step program?”

  Jude blinked. “No, actually.” Although he’d come closer to needing one than he cared to think about.

  “Then why?”

  He hadn’t prepared himself for that question. The glib reply, I was in the neighborhood, while true, likely wouldn’t set a good tone for this conversation. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  “Run. Hide. Not be with my family.”

  “That was your choice.”

  “I know.”

  “So you were what, scared? Lonely? Couldn’t live with the guilt anymore?” His brother’s voice vibrated with barely-contained rage.

  All of the above. Jude lifted his shoulders. “Yes.”

  Cash contemplated him in stony silence. Jude forced himself to meet his gaze steadily. “Where did you go?”

  “Toronto.”

  “How did you live?”

  Jude rubbed the side of his hand across his forehead, remembering. “It was tough at first. For a few weeks I wandered the streets, slept in alleys or in a shelter if a bed was available. I drank a lot, trying to forget everything and everyone I’d left behind.” He hesitated. No more hiding. “I did some stupid stuff, narrowly avoided doing time. Eventually I got it together and managed to land a job. Saved enough to go back to school and graduated a couple of years ago. Now I work as an addictions counselor in a firm with two other guys, Joe Calvin, my boss, and my partner and mentor, Rick Moser.”

  “So you landed on your feet.”

  “Eventually, I guess.”

  “And it never occurred to you to call and let us know that?” Cash reached for the glass he’d set down earlier and took a swig. The glass rattled against the counter when he set it down.

  “I wanted to. I even started dialing, more times than I can count, but I was afraid—”

  Cash’s palm came down hard on the counter and Jude jumped. “You were afraid? How do you think Mom felt, losing a daughter and then having a son disappear off the planet? Or your little sister, who asked me every single day that first year if you’d called yet. Or me, who drove up and down the streets of every city in an eight-hour radius every weekend for months, and who has wondered for five years if you were alive or…” Cash stopped and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

  Jude’s throat was so tight he couldn’t swallow. He’d never seen his brother, normally cool and even-tempered, so worked up. And it was all on him. The weight pressing down on his chest was suffocating. Was it possible to die of sorrow and regret over the choices you’d made in the past? If so, it might be a good idea for him to get his affairs in order. “I’m sorry, Cash. I don’t know what else to say.”

  His brother lowered his hand and took another drink. “In a way, I got it. I knew you’d been through something terrible and you didn’t know how to handle it. But maybe the people who love you the most could have helped you through it if you’d stayed. We could have helped each other through it. Instead, we had to worry about you, too.”

  “You’re right. I never should have left. I’m sorry.” Like they had when he’d said them to his mother, the words sounded weak and foolish, but they were all he had to offer.

  “Are you staying?”

  His chest clenched. His future was so uncertain—could he make any kind of promise to his brother? He’d never make one again that he didn’t intend to keep. “For a little while. I don’t know how long. But I won’t leave again without telling you I’m going and letting you know where I’ll be.”

  Cash slammed down the glass and stalked toward him. Jude braced himself but didn’t resist when his brother planted a hand on his chest and shoved him against the wall. He deserved everything Cash threw at him and more. And getting what he deserved was a lot easier than accepting what he didn’t. Although what he didn’t deserve kept him on his knees, which was where he needed to be.

  “If you do take off again,” his brother spoke through clenched teeth, pressing a little harder to drive home his point, “don’t ever come back here. Knowing them, I’m sure Mom and Maddie welcomed you back with open arms, but I will not allow you to hurt them again. You leave one more time without warning and you are no longer part of this family.”

  Relief weakened his knees. Then he was still part of the family now. “Got it.”

  Cash’s face softened as he slid his hand up to grip Jude’s shoulder. “Don’t be like Dad, Jude.”

  Jude flinched. That hurt more than Cash’s fist down his throat ever could. And so did the truth—that he’d been on the exact same path as his father. But for the grace of God. He reached across his chest to grasp his brother’s forearm. “I won’t. I don’t want to be anything like him. I want to be like you, Cash. That’s why I came back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Díaz sat on the bench of a picnic table, leaning back against the tabletop. He clutched a book in his hand, but his attention was on the three kids playing in the sandbox at the park. He lifted the paperback to hide a smile. One of the girls reminded him of his little Josefina. When a young boy raised a pail, leaving a bucket-shaped pile of sand in the box, she squealed and clapped her hands. His chest squeezed. Exactly like my baby girl.

  The time his boss had been given had been sliding steadily through the small hole of the hourglass. Twenty-two days left. From habit, he scanned the area over the top of the book. He still hadn’t caught a glimpse of Kendrick. Was the man in town? Had he tracked down Summer Velásquez? Díaz had been watching the girl pretty closely. A few times a dark car had driven by the place where she was staying, and more than once a vehicle had slowly passed the bakery where she worked. He hadn’t been able to make out the features of any of the occupants, though. And in a tourist town, slow-moving vehicles were as likely to be visitors to Elora, gawking at the displays in shop windows and the beautiful scenery, as anyone with darker intentions.

  Díaz sighed and drove his fingers through his hair. He didn’t get paid enough for this. Except that the boss did compensate him quite well. The more unsavory the task, the greater the compensation, so he couldn’t do anything to put his job in jeopardy. Not if he hoped to save
enough money to bring his family here from Mexico.

  He rested the book on his chest, imagining the moment they would come through the arrivals gate at the airport, running toward him, arms raised and yelling “Papá” as their dark braids bounced against the backs of their brightly colored dresses.

  Clenching his jaw, Díaz lifted the book. No daydreaming. Not now, when the end of this job was only three weeks away. If all went well, this could be the last one. If it didn’t, it might be months, even years, before he saw Juanita and the girls again. If he survived that long.

  A movement at the edge of the park caught his eye and he stiffened. She was coming. Over the top of the book, his gaze followed Summer as she strolled down the pathway. He’d figured she would come through here today. When the weather was nice—and it had turned unseasonably warm the last few days—she walked to work, cutting through the park both ways.

  He kept an eye on her until she reached the far side of the park. Then he closed the book, stuck it under his arm, and strolled casually across the grassy area that led to the sidewalk Summer had started down. Keeping half a block between them, Díaz meandered down the street, feigning interest in the display in every store window while keeping tabs on her progress.

  A lot of people spoke to Summer, quite a few calling her by the name she’d given herself when she arrived in town. The regulars at the coffee shop—which appeared to be about half the population—were clearly coming to know her already, even though she’d only been in Elora a few weeks.

  Summer smiled and spoke to all of them, and it took her close to half an hour to reach her street. Díaz waited until she had gone into the house before settling himself on a bench at a bus stop and pulling out his book again so no one would wonder what he was doing sitting there. An hour later, he closed the book and stood. If she’d been going out with McCall again, she would have come out by now, so likely she would be home now until morning.

  That meant he could call it an early night and head back to the motel. With a final glance at the house, Díaz started down the street. None of the cars parked along the curb had anyone inside. Maybe he’d been imagining the vehicles that had passed by as though its occupants were watching her house and work, like he was.

  He turned the corner and trudged in the direction of the Torchlight Inn, a twenty-minute walk away, contemplating his situation as he walked. Summer and McCall had been spending quite a bit of time together, which made Díaz’s job both easier and harder. Easier because he could keep an eye on both of them at the same time, harder because his antenna needed to be up every second. If Summer’s memory came back, if she started showing any hint at all that she remembered McCall, Díaz would have to act fast.

  And he would need to make sure that, if Kendrick had tracked her to Elora, he didn’t come out of the shadows and get to her first.

  Chapter Thirty

  Summer slid onto the bench beside Daphne and scanned the room. Shawn and Daphne’s church was in a small stone building with stained glass windows and rows of wooden pews. Mercifully, these ones had padded seats and were surprisingly comfortable.

  Quiet music played over the sound system and something eased inside her, a feeling of anxiety she hadn’t realized she’d been feeling since she’d walked into the place. Or maybe since the cop had first told her, weeks ago, about the attack in her home. The knots in her shoulders and stomach loosened. However she had come to her faith, she was deeply thankful she had. Being in this room, studying the biblical scenes etched in every window, listening to the worship music, being surrounded by other people who shared her faith in the same God, and, most of all, the large wooden cross hanging on the wall behind the pulpit, filled her with peace.

  The sense that she wasn’t alone, that God was with her and that she belonged in this community of believers, wrapped itself around her like the old knitted afghan on Nancy’s couch and she relaxed into the warmth of it. Although it had taken her a few weeks to work up the nerve to come, she needed this, to feel part of something greater than herself. When the worship leader welcomed everyone and announced the first song, she stood with everyone else. She didn’t remember hearing the words before, but she followed along on the screen and soon caught on, even joining in, a little tentatively, on the chorus. Beside her, Daphne’s voice rose, clear and lovely, mingling with Shawn’s bass. Summer smiled, glad that she had allowed her friend to talk her into coming.

  After three songs and a handful of announcements, the minister walked up the steps to the stage and took his place behind the pulpit. He looked to be in his early-forties, with a kind face and enough muscles on him to suggest that he didn’t spend all his time studying theology textbooks. He greeted everyone then opened his Bible and read a passage from it. The words were unfamiliar to Summer, even strange, something about offering their bodies as living sacrifices. Still, the power of the words he was speaking in a strong, deep voice, full of conviction, flowed through her like electricity through a wire, infusing her with energy and light.

  She strained to catch every word, wishing she’d brought a Bible so she could follow along. Did she own a Bible? Maybe, if she’d had more time to look around her home, she might have found one. Daphne nudged her with an elbow and Summer looked down. Her friend was reading along from hers and she held it closer to Summer so she could see the passage as well. It helped to be able to study the words for herself.

  The section talked about members and the body and sounded like they might be referring to the same thing Summer had been thinking about earlier, that everyone in the room was part of a larger community. A community designed by God to use their strengths—the Bible called them gifts—to help each other. Kind of how she and Daphne and Shawn worked in the café.

  Shawn definitely had gifts he used in the kitchen, while Daphne’s lay more in how she interacted with all the people who came through the door. Summer did much of the hands-on work, cleaning and organizing in order to give Daphne more time to talk to the customers. Many of them seemed to come in as much to share their problems with her and receive comfort, commiseration, or advice as to indulge in Shawn’s amazing baking. When she put the passage in that context, it made complete sense to her that the church should work the same way.

  The last part of the section shocked her a little. Hating evil and doing good sounded right. She certainly hated the evil that someone had done to her and that the threat still hung over her head so she had to hide away here and be concerned about her safety. And she appreciated the good she saw in others—Nancy’s generosity, Shawn’s gentleness, Daphne’s sweetness, the way Ryan made her feel safe and special. Something inside of her, the work of God, most likely, had to be good too, for all of those people to care about her.

  But she tripped over some of the other instructions. Be patient in tribulation? She had only a vague sense of what tribulation was, but it felt as though what she was going through might fit into that category. And God wanted her to be patient about it? Did that mean she was supposed to sit around waiting for something to happen? Or could she be patient but still take steps to protect herself, to try and remember the past so she could help the police find the man who had done this to her and bring him to justice?

  No sooner had that thought passed through her mind than the pastor read that they were not supposed to repay evil for evil but to live in peace with everyone, at least as much as possible. And to leave vengeance up to God and never try to avenge themselves. Really? After someone had attacked and nearly killed her in her own home, she wasn’t supposed to try and go after him but let God deal with him?

  For a few seconds that concept burned in her chest. Then the heat subsided, as though cool drops of rain had spattered down over it. Maybe it wasn’t so much that she couldn’t seek revenge but that she didn’t have to. It wasn’t her responsibility. That job fell to one much greater, more powerful, and more perfectly just than she was. It was possible that the directive wasn’t meant to tie her hands but to lift from her the weight of
attempting to exact revenge for herself, from feeling afraid or angry or bitter. She bit her lip. Could it be that God’s commandments weren’t intended to enslave her—like she’d heard so many say and that she had believed when she was growing up—but that they were designed to free her?

  Summer felt the burden she’d been carrying around since she’d left the hospital lift from her as clearly as if she’d shrugged off a backpack filled with rocks and dropped it to the ground. The next breath she took was a deeper one than she could remember inhaling in weeks.

  The final song was another she didn’t know. Still, the words rang so true to her that by the second time through the chorus she had lost her tentativeness and allowed them to pour out of her. They spoke of how, as children of God, they were no longer slaves to fear. Was that how she had been living? Summer had tried her best not to let fear overwhelm her since finding out about the man who had assaulted her. Still, she was confronted now by the truth of those words, the idea that she couldn’t fight fear on her own, but could only overcome it through the freedom that God offered.

  She had been afraid. Afraid of who might track her down and what he might do to her if he did. Afraid that someone would go after her parents or the people in her new town, especially anyone she had grown close to. Afraid of giving her heart away in case the person she gave it to betrayed her in some way, smashing it into pieces.

  God, help me with my fear. Take it from me. I don’t want to be a slave to it anymore. Before the words had died away in her mind, she felt that burden being lifted too. Something she couldn’t have begun to describe to anyone else—not in any language—flowed through her, like a beam of sunlight shimmering in the air. Ethereal yet driving back the darkness all around it.

  Daphne touched her elbow, drawing Summer back into the moment. The service had ended and people were filing out of their pews. “Are you good?” Her bright blue eyes searched Summer’s.