by Traci DePree
Kate chuckled. “Why are you so hungry? You went out for breakfast!”
“Growing boy?” Paul offered.
Kate laughed.
He reached to turn on the oven, then placed the pizza on a cookie sheet.
“Did Bobby Evans make it today?” she asked.
“He did,” Paul said, scooting out a chair to sit on. “He had a breakthrough last night.” He told Kate about Bobby panicking when he came home to find Caitlin and the boys gone. “It was a watershed moment,” he added.
Kate shook her head, wondering at how God could use something so simple to get through to the young pastor. But it was God’s way, to use the mundane to speak to humankind, to turn them toward him.
“He asked for counseling,” Paul was saying, “and I suggested the two of us could do couples counseling with him and Caitlin.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kate said. “When do we start?”
“Tonight?”
CAITLIN LOOKED A BIT NERVOUS when she met Paul and Kate at her front door that evening. Bobby waved at them from the couch in the living room. The boys were nowhere to be seen.
“I’m just floored at how God works,” she said in a whisper.
“We’ve been praying,” Kate reminded her with a smile as she squeezed Caitlin’s hand.
Paul and Kate took seats on the small love seat across from the younger couple. The room looked tidier than the last time Kate had been there. No toys in sight, and there were fresh vacuum marks on the carpet. A plate of cookies sat on the coffee table alongside a carafe of coffee and four mugs.
“So where do we want to start?” Paul asked when they were all settled with snacks in hand.
Bobby shifted on his seat and turned to his wife. “I guess I should say a few things,” he began. “I said this in private, but I want to say it here too.”
He took a deep breath and reached for Caitlin’s hands. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been listening to you for a long time. I’ve worked all hours, put everyone first before our family. I thought I was just doing my job, being a provider for you. But I was wrong, and I know that’s hurt you and the kids. We’ve been pulling apart for a long time now, and I want to change that. I really do.”
When he finished speaking, tears lined Caitlin’s cheeks. She reached for a tissue from the coffee table and wiped them away. Kate could see relief in the younger woman’s face, but also hesitance. Kate felt a lump in her own throat. For Bobby to admit his problem was a huge part of moving forward, but trust had been broken between the two, and that would take a long time to regain.
Paul sat back. The others turned to him, waiting for him to speak.
“Caitlin,” he began, “would you tell us how you and Bobby got together? What made you fall in love?”
Caitlin seemed taken aback by the question. She glanced at Bobby, then drew in a breath as she began. “We were college sweethearts. I was an art major, and he was studying music. He plays the piano like a master.” Caitlin smiled to herself. “I think that’s what first made me fall in love with him. I used to love to listen to him play.” She turned her head to look her husband in the eye. “It’s been a long time since you sat down at the keyboard.”
“I’ve been too busy,” he agreed. “I’ve been too busy for a lot of things.”
“Like feeding your soul,” Caitlin agreed, turning to Paul. “He used to take fishing weekends with my dad at my parents’ cabin on the Tennessee River, but it’s been years. Remember that, honey?”
“Sure I do,” he said with a wistful smile. “They were good times.”
“Bobby always came home from those weekends so rejuvenated and refreshed,” Caitlin said. “There was something about that time—just two men out fishing all day.” She turned to Paul. Kate could tell from her expression that an idea was growing.
Caitlin continued, “You know, my folks wouldn’t mind at all if we used the cabin. We have our own key, and they’ve said they want us to get up there as often as possible.”
“What are you talking about?” Bobby said.
“You and Paul.” She nodded to Paul. “The two of you could take a little retreat. You like to fish, don’t you, Paul?”
Paul nodded, and Caitlin turned back to Bobby. “You could get a break, some peace and quiet. I can hold down the fort here.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “You’ve been complaining that I’ve been gone too much as it is.”
“But this is different,” she said. “I want you to have those times you used to have before the boys came, just for you.”
The idea was growing on Kate too. Time alone with Paul might be just the thing for the younger pastor.
“I can help with the boys,” Kate offered. “Maybe give you a little time to paint?” she said to Caitlin.
Bobby turned to Paul, who was now grinning. Kate sensed that her husband was envisioning days on the beautiful Tennessee River.
“I’m game,” Paul said.
“I’ll call my mom to make sure no one else will be there,” Caitlin said. “When do you want to leave?”
“I have appointments,” Bobby said, then stopped when he saw Caitlin shaking her head. “I’m game too, I guess.”
KATE COULD HEAR PAUL moving around in their bedroom the next morning, getting the remainder of his gear ready for the fishing trip. He and Bobby had decided to head out as soon as both pastors were done with their Sunday duties.
Kate was reading her Bible in her favorite chair in the living room. She’d been thinking about Caitlin and Bobby as well as the Weavers, especially Sonja. What had happened in their family? The children seemed well balanced and loved, though still grieving the disappearance of their mother—Brian who felt she was dead and Becky who still refused to believe that fate. And Brad had always come across as a kind, devoted husband. He believed his wife was dead, so was it wrong for him to spend an evening with a longtime friend—someone who loved Sonja as he had? Perhaps Brad was merely seeking comfort from a friend, support after the discovery of the pending foreclosure. She closed her eyes and prayed for wisdom, then turned to Psalm 55:22.
Cast your cares on the Lord
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall.
What a comfort those words were!
Was that what Sonja had been doing that morning when she’d gone to the lookout? Had she gone to walk the dog, read her Bible, and pray about her cares? To tell God of her son’s sneaking out, her argument with her husband, her financial troubles, and lay it all at his feet? That would have been the Sonja Kate had come to know. Yet she’d been confused, calling out a dead man’s name—a man who had devastated her.
As Kate prayed, a thought occurred to her. The doctor had said that he didn’t think Sonja had Alzheimer’s, but instead of depression, could she have been suffering the aftereffects of that horrible time in her life? Some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder? It seemed possible given the story Judy had shared about that time in Sonja’s life. But had Sonja ever been diagnosed with anything like that?
Kate moved to her laptop computer, which lay closed on the dining table. She flipped it open and turned it on. When the machine had connected to the Internet, she went to WebMD, a medical Web site, and typed in “post-traumatic stress disorder.”
She read the information that appeared on the screen: Post-traumatic stress disorder, also known as PTSD, is among only a few mental disorders that are triggered by a disturbing outside event, quite unlike other psychiatric disorders such as depression.
That piqued Kate’s interest. She read on: People who are exposed to the most intense trauma are the most likely to develop PTSD. The higher the degree of exposure to trauma, the more likely you are to develop PTSD. So, if something happens to you more than once, or if something occurs to you over a very long period of time, the likelihood of developing PTSD is increased. Then a few paragraphs down: The main symptoms of PTSD are flashbacks, emotional detachment, and jumpiness.
Flashbacks.
The word stood out from the rest. Was that what Sonja had been experiencing when she’d come upon Willy Bergen at the creek that day? If so, what had triggered the event?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bobby was fidgeting with the dials on Paul’s pickup radio as they headed west. He’d been fidgeting ever since Paul picked him up a little after two o’clock on Sunday afternoon. Since the Evans only owned one vehicle, they’d decided to take Paul’s truck.
“Can you take a look at that map for me?” Paul asked, pointing to the atlas that lay between them on the bench seat. “Do I take I-75 the whole way?”
“Yes,” Bobby said without reaching for the map. “Till you hit 68. It’s simple.”
Paul gazed through the front windshield. A mist clung to the mountains as they wove between them. Paul could feel his ears popping as the elevation changed. “Your folks own this cabin a long time?”
“It’s Caitlin’s folks’,” Bobby reminded him. “It’s been in the family a couple of generations.”
The sound of a phone ringing stopped their conversation. Bobby reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “This is Bobby.”
It was clearly someone from his church because he talked about the offertory and the following Sunday’s service. When Bobby finally pushed the End button a good fifteen minutes later, Paul held out his hand.
“What?” Bobby said, looking from Paul’s hand to his face.
Paul didn’t take his eyes off the road. “The phone.”
Bobby’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t say anything about no phones!”
Paul shook his head. “Give me the phone,” he insisted, laughing.
“What if I want to call Caitlin and the kids?”
“I’ll give it back for that, but no unexpected calls about work.”
“I can be good!” Bobby promised, chuckling. “I promise, I won’t take another call about work.”
“It’s a deal,” Paul said. “We’re going to have some fun these next couple of days, and that means no distractions!”
“I guess I can agree to that,” Bobby conceded.
ON MONDAY, KATE RETURNED to her list of Passat owners. Hopefully one of them was the illusive man in purple. She was convinced that he had to have seen Sonja. If he was connected to Sonja and Brad, he could tell her what had happened that day in the woods.
She drove to the first address on the list, which was in Dunlap, a good hour’s drive.
Karen Carpenter looked nothing like her famous namesake. The pudgy fortyish blonde with dark brown eyes barely came up to Kate’s shoulders, and when she answered her door, she looked almost afraid.
“Who are you?” she said, glancing over Kate’s shoulder into the apartment hallway as if she saw someone behind her. Kate turned to make sure no one was there.
Kate offered a friendly smile, hoping to put the woman at ease. “My name is Kate Hanlon. I’m looking for a missing person, and I’m hoping you can help me find her.”
“A missing person?” Karen’s tone rose at the end of the sentence.
“Yes,” Kate said. “Do you own a silver Volkswagen Passat?”
“Yeah.” Karen’s eyes narrowed.
Kate pulled out a photograph of Sonja she’d gotten from her obituary in the paper and held it out for the woman to see. Sonja wore a sweater, and she smiled for the camera, revealing straight white teeth and a dimple in one cheek.
“Her name is Sonja Weaver. She’s been missing for over two weeks.”
The lemony scent of cleaning detergent clung to the woman.
Kate continued. “I think that someone driving a silver Passat near Copper Mill Creek that day might’ve seen her.”
Karen just shook her head and handed the photo of Sonja back to Kate. “Sorry.”
Next, Kate pulled out the enlarged photo of the car with the man in purple. Karen took it reluctantly and squinted her eyes to study it.
“How can you tell anything from that?” the woman said. “It’s so blurry.”
“See, there’s a person there.” Kate ran her finger along the purple sweatshirt that was hidden in the foliage. “And it says KYV on the license plate.” She pointed again. “Could it be yours?”
“Nope, it’s not mine.” Karen shook her head vigorously, causing her permed hair to bounce. Then she handed the photo back as someone behind her said, “Who’s at the door?”
Karen moved aside to reveal a woman in a wheelchair. From the age and appearance of the woman, Kate assumed she was Karen’s mother. Kate smiled and offered a little wave.
“Some lady looking for a missing woman,” Karen explained to the older woman. Then turning back to Kate, she explained, “I’m here with Mom twenty-four, seven, so it wasn’t me.”
Kate thanked her and said farewell.
As Kate climbed into her car, she shook her head. Why couldn’t this be easy?
THE TINY CABIN was perched on a rock outcropping overlooking the Tennessee River. There were two bedrooms, one in a loft, the other off the kitchen. Bobby had chosen the loft, saying that he didn’t want Paul to have to haul his suitcase up the stairs. So Paul had slept on the slightly lumpy double bed in the back room, which consisted of a dresser and a few hooks on the paneled walls.
There was no television, no technology to interfere with living. The view from the front deck was breathtaking. One mountain led to the next in a carpet of dark evergreens, and the river shimmered below as midday sunlight sparkled across its surface.
“How can you keep yourself away from this?” Paul remarked when he brought his steaming coffee out to the deck to sit with Bobby. “It’s amazing!”
Bobby lifted his head to follow Paul’s gaze. “Unfortunately, you get used to it,” he said. “Kind of how I took Caitlin and the boys for granted.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Paul said, setting his mug on the short cedar end table between them. “We all have our struggles. I certainly did.” He rested his forearms on his knees and let the morning sun warm his face.
“So, what did you do to change?” Bobby said, his tone earnest. “I’m looking at all the demands on my time, and I don’t really know what to cut out.”
“Well...,” Paul said, not wanting to tell the man what to do, since he knew that everyone had to make their own way. “I started by setting work hours. That went a long way toward showing Kate that she was important to me. And I worked extra hard to keep my time with her sacred.”
Paul picked up his coffee mug again and took a long drink. “People will always ask for more than you can give. You just have to say no, which isn’t always easy. But you get used to it. Sometimes people don’t like it, but be kind, respectful. Tell them the truth, that they matter, but that you have prior obligations.”
He smiled and met Bobby’s gaze. “Whether I’d scheduled something specific or not with Kate and the kids, I did have a prior obligation: to be a husband and a dad.”
“But what do you do when you get those calls in the middle of the night?” Bobby asked. “How do you say no then?”
“That depends,” Paul said. “You have to weigh each one; rarely are they true emergencies. If someone is on their deathbed, and the family wants you there to pray with their loved one, then go. But how often does that happen? I figure, most anything else can wait until business hours.”
Bobby seemed thoughtful, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the concept. “That means something will have to give, then,” he said. “I don’t have enough time in the day to get everything accomplished.”
“That’s true,” Paul agreed. “The things that matter most to you—and to your church—will have to take priority. That means sitting down and having a serious conversation with your church leaders. They care about you and Caitlin. I guarantee they’ll want to help.”
Bobby scratched his forehead, and Paul sensed he was still struggling. “What if no one steps forward to take over the vacation Bible school?”
“Then vacation Bible
school doesn’t matter to your church nearly as much as it matters to you,” Paul said.
The statement seemed to shock Bobby to silence. His mouth opened as he considered it. “You mean we don’t have a vacation Bible school at all?” he asked.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Paul said.
“Are you talking about threatening the church to get them to step up or—”
“No,” Paul said honestly. “If the church truly cares about the event, you shouldn’t have to carry its weight alone. You aren’t a superhero. None of us are. We’re part of the body of Christ, and that requires all the parts working together.”
Bobby’s face finally split into a grin of realization. “I’ve been taking it all on myself, not letting God or others contribute.”
KATE DROVE EAST for a while on Mountain Laurel Road before turning onto a dirt road, where the next person on her list lived. Considering the home’s proximity to where Sonja’s car had been found, Kate felt hopeful that this would be the lead she was looking for.
Wilbur Ringold, according to his petite wife, was out for a run. “But he should be back soon,” she said, adding, “You can wait for him if you like.”
The Ringold home was a veritable doll museum. Dolls in every size, shape, color, and material filled the small home. Ivy, as she’d introduced herself, disappeared to do something in the back of the house while Kate waited. Kate amused herself by examining the many dolls. Finally the screen door screeched, announcing that Wilbur had returned home from his run.
Kate turned to see an overweight, bald man with freckles across his pale cheeks. He stopped when his eyes met hers.
“Well, hey,” he said with a thick Tennessee accent. “You waitin’ on Ivy?”
“No, sir,” Kate said, rising. “If you’re Wilbur, I’m here to see you.” She reached to shake hands with the man as she introduced herself. He was dripping sweat and used a bandana to dab at his face and neck. “I’m looking for a missing person, and I’m hoping you can help,” she said.
Wilbur placed his hands on his bulbous hips as Kate told him what she’d explained to Karen Carpenter, finishing by showing him the photo of the man in purple near the Passat. Since he was bald and the person in the photo had red hair, the likelihood that he was the one in the sweatshirt was about nil, but Kate thought it was at least worth a try. Perhaps the man occasionally wore red wigs or had a friend with him that day.
