by Sally John
Agnes bobbed and clapped her hands, a little girl on Christmas morning. “Yes. Tell me what else happened.”
“What do you mean, ‘what else happened’?”
“I saw something in your eye when we first arrived, days before your mother’s story.”
That thing about Ty showed?
“Something good, Jill. A new insight.”
The garbage can. “I admitted I’m not perfect.”
“Was this a rather long time in coming?”
“I guess it looks that way. Of course I thought I knew that, but it was only a vague suspicion. Ever since I saw the warthog, every time I turn around it’s like scales fall from my eyes and I see some new awful thing about myself.”
“Hallelujah.”
“I haven’t said that yet.”
“Try it.”
Jill took a deep breath. “Hallelujah! I am judgmental, dogmatic, persnickety, prissy, a nagger with a black-and-white attitude, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Very good. Now what?”
“It was all in a garbage can strapped to my back. But now I’ve only got one hand on it. God’s helping me carry it.”
Agnes stared at her, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Oh, dear.”
“That is worth a hallelujah, isn’t it?” Jill grinned. Between the wash of unconditional love and the assurance that she needn’t carry her burdens alone, she wanted to dance. She was ready to tackle whatever was thrown in her path. Jack and Connor were not going to recognize her.
Agnes chuckled and then burst into laughter. “Jill, God wants you to give it to Him.”
“What?” Jill wanted to pack the woman in her suitcase and take her to Chicago.
“God doesn’t want you to carry that garbage around. Isn’t that what the Cross is all about? Dump it out, my dear. He has forgiven every thought, word, and deed against Him and you.”
“Dump it?”
“All of it.”
“But it reminds me—”
“Of who you used to be.” Agnes grasped her arm and gave it a gentle shake. “You are a new person, Jillian Galloway. Don’t dwell in the old. Now dump that rubbish this instant!”
“Agnes, I’m just getting the hang of being honest about myself. I need some time to think this through.”
“Time is short.” The pale blue eyes lost their focus again. They moved almost as if Agnes were watching some activity above Jill. She cocked her head and touched her ear, listening. Her skin appeared cottony soft. “Yes, time is almost up.”
“Are you all right?”
“Never been better.” She refocused and met Jill’s gaze. She smiled. “This has been grand, my dear. Wouldn’t have missed getting to know you for the world, but now I must go home.”
Jill felt a sense of dread at the sudden attack of senility. “Agnes, we’re on the bus.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” She kissed Jill’s cheek, undid her seat belt, and quickly stepped into the aisle.
Unbuckling her own belt, Jill reached out to grab Agnes’s arm. The bus lurched and Jill clutched a handful of air.
Time slowed. One moment unfurled. An hour passed. Another moment opened as gently as a blossom welcoming the sun. Jill’s mind recorded it all.
Viv nearly stood on the brake pedal, elbows akimbo, hands on the steering wheel.
Agnes twirled, a graceful spin of daffodil yellow velour.
Women screamed.
The bus rammed something, bounced up. And down. Up. And down. Bone-rattling, teeth-jarring jolts.
Agnes’s body bounced off the silver pole at the stairwell. It smacked against the partition at the front. It tumbled onto the floor.
The bus hit down a third time. Wham.
The overhead compartment descended, its gray molded frame coming to meet Jill’s forehead.
The world went black.
Chapter 34
Viv respected dust storms.
She first met one at the age of six as she played alone in the backyard, not far from the house. It whipped at her without warning and too quickly for her mother to reach her. For several minutes it pelted her, driving sand and dirt into her eyes and mouth, stinging her arms and legs. She searched blindly for the house, her screams lost in the wind’s roar, unable to find the back door or hear her mother’s voice until the storm had passed.
Which made her overly cautious when it came to driving her tour vehicles across the desert. Except for that roller-coaster stretch outside of Sweetwater in her own car, she drove like a little old lady determined not to bump a lizard. No matter if skies were clear and the wind calm, she monitored forecasts.
As she had that morning.
The thing was, haboobs did not always announce their intentions.
It was a beautiful spring day, dry, not too hot, clear skies, calm wind. A yellow carpet of wildflowers lined the two-lane.
Viv enjoyed driving. Traffic didn’t bother her, but long stretches of empty roads through an ever-changing landscape were a special treat. She especially liked the vastness of the Sweetwater desert, a mismatched puzzle of valleys, dry creek beds, canyons, overlooks, and ridges.
Low scrubby bushes, cacti, rocks, and beige sands filled the space as far as the eye could see. Surrounding it all were hills like great piles of unfolded laundry, soft towels of earthy colors. Mountains rose, inverted ice cream cones with three-thousand-foot peaks. Deep quiet reigned, louder even than her music.
It made her feel small and big at the same time, an ant who moved along the whorls of God’s fingertips.
The ribbon of highway dipped and curved and squeezed itself between rock walls near enough it seemed she could reach out her window and touch them. In some places the right or the left wall gave way to boulder-strewn drops and panoramic vistas of valleys and mountains so magnificent they snatched her breath away.
Red Gulch Canyon was just such a pass. Viv slowed going into the rock-wall-enclosed S-curves, anticipating the burst of beauty on the right side as she pulled around the final loop.
Wham.
Without warning, the storm roared at her. It struck the bus head-on at thirty miles an hour. Its mass of dust and debris would reach upward thousands of feet high and outward far enough to engulf the valley.
Visibility instantly went to zero.
Viv instantly slammed on the brakes.
Her mind automatically registered several things at once. The storm itself would most likely last only a few minutes. There had been no traffic behind her, but she had to pull off the road, beyond the narrow shoulder, and turn off the taillights so no one would follow them.
Where was the shoulder?
Viv turned the steering wheel slightly. The bus skidded. Oh, God! It bounced and banged and careened down the embankment. It went down. And down.
An eternal moment passed. Cries from the women and the rat-a-tat-tat of sand peppering the windows filled her head. With a sudden, violent jolt, the bus stopped.
And stayed put. Right-side up. No rocking. No teetering. No creaking. Solid on the ground.
They hadn’t hit a rock wall. They hadn’t plunged over one of the steep drop-offs. They hadn’t broken apart or flipped over or crashed onto the boulders.
Thank You, God! Viv set the brake and turned off the engine and almost laughed. Like I’m parking in a lot! Thank You. Thank You.
She unbuckled her seat belt, trying to turn around. A sharp pain shot through her left arm and yanked her back. The wrist angled in an odd way and caught in the harness loop, slowing her. She jerked it free and scrambled over the console into the back of the bus.
Six of her ladies were struggling to get free from seat belts, calling out to one another. Thank You, God, that they wear the belts. Jill was crawling toward Viv, or rather toward a figure slumped partially in the aisle, partially in the stairwell.
A figure clad in yellow.
Agnes.
What was she doing there?
Jill reached her first and gently touched her cheek. “Oh, Agnes!”
Viv
knelt and took hold of the motionless wrist. She checked for a pulse. Jill’s fingers were on Agnes’s neck.
“Jillie?”
Her sister looked at her and nodded. A trickle of blood from her forehead disappeared into her collar. “I think her head hit the divider.”
“There’s not a scratch on her.”
“But her neck . . .”
Viv noticed then the crookedness of Agnes’s body, the head not aligned as it should be. “Oh, God! I’m sorry!”
Jill reached over Agnes and hugged her. “She knew, Viv.”
“Knew what?” Another pain ripped through her arm. “Oh!”
“You’re hurt.”
“We have to get out! We have to get out!”
Someone touched her back and she turned to see Martha, tall with salt-and-pepper hair. “My phone isn’t working. Let me look at your wrist, Vivvie.” She knelt and gently felt along the arm. “It might be broken. Try to relax now. We have enough first aid supplies and food and water for an army. We’ll be fine, honey. Remember I was a nurse and Iris was an aide.”
Viv started to blubber. “Agnes.”
“Dearie, Agnes is just fine. You know where she went. She just stepped into the unseen world and she’s happy to be there. That blissful smile on her face says it all, don’t you think?”
Viv collapsed into Martha’s arms.
Chapter 35
Chicago
Jack pulled a pen from the chest pocket of his lab coat and grabbed a pad from the counter. “This is what I’m trying to say.” He wheeled his stool over to the patient seated on a chair in the examining room and began to sketch.
The young woman chuckled. “What is that?”
“Your leg bones. It’s the way they’ve probably always grown. See how that throws off your balance? Orthotics will correct it. No more pain in your feet.”
The door burst open and Sophie appeared.
At the sight of her pinched face, Jack felt the room tilt.
“My dad?”
“Your brother-in-law.” Her voice was low, her words rushed.
Jack’s thought processes slowed. His brother-in-law? Who?
Sophie beckoned to him and apologized to his patient. “Sorry, Mrs. Collins. He really needs to take this call. A nurse will be right with you.”
Getting himself into the hall was like swimming through molasses. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He had a brother-in-law. He lived in California. Why would he call him in the middle of the day? Why would he know about Jack’s dad?
Sophie handed him the phone and shut the door behind him. “Jack, there’s been an accident,” she whispered. “Talk to Marty.”
Marty. His brother-in-law. He put the phone to his ear. “Marty?”
“Hey, Jack. Listen. Viv and Jill had an accident. They’re okay. Just happened. They’re still in the bus.”
“Bus?”
“Viv’s tour bus. They’re okay.” He sounded as if he were talking himself into believing his statement. “I’m pretty sure they’re okay. Viv called me so . . . Hold on.”
Sophie was pushing on Jack’s back, steering him toward his office. Through the phone came the sound of a blaring horn followed by muttered cussing.
“Marty!”
“Yeah. Yeah. Viv called, maybe twenty minutes ago? Dust storm. Bus went off the road. Thank God not a cliff. It’s right-side up. Nine of them on board. Everybody’s okay. Well, almost. Hold on.”
Again came the noises. Sophie shoved him into a chair and sat in the other one in his office.
“Stupid drivers! Get out of my way, jerk! Sorry.”
“You said almost!”
“Agnes. One of the old ladies from—”
“Jill! What about Jill?”
“Viv says she’s okay.”
“What does okay mean?” Jack nearly screeched.
“She’s walking and talking, Jack. That’s all I know. I figure if they’re walking and talking, they’re all right.”
“Okay. Okay.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand against his forehead.
Sophie touched his shoulder.
Jack lowered his voice, tried to get his mind around what Marty was saying. “Where are you?”
“Ninety minutes out.”
“Ninety!”
“I’ll do it in forty-five.”
Jack imagined Marty in his man truck with its big tires and powerful engine, traffic parting for him like a curtain.
Marty said, “They’re at Red Gulch Canyon.”
Jack shook his head. He’d never heard of Red Gulch Canyon. It sounded like some godforsaken desert hole. Where was Jill? Last they talked, she was at her parents’. What was she doing on Viv’s bus? Viv had a bus?
He hated feeling ignorant.
Marty went on. “So they’re still closer to Sweetwater than the city. First responders are heading out from there now. Volunteers for the most part, but they know the terrain.”
“Skip’s a volunteer!”
“Right. Which means our girls are in good hands. I gotta warn you, though. It’s going to take them a while to get at the bus. The storm might have dumped junk on the highway. There might be other accidents along the way. And . . .” He went quiet.
Jack waited.
Marty cleared his throat. “Viv couldn’t tell how far down they went. There’s some steep terrain heading into the valley. But they didn’t roll or hit anything major.”
“Oh, no. What about that woman? Who did you say?”
“Agnes. She . . .” He paused. “She died. Apparently she didn’t have her seat belt on. I didn’t get any more details. The cell signal is iffy. Viv gave me what I needed to call emergency and got off.”
“You called 911?”
“Yeah. Goofy broad.” How he managed to say that lovingly was an exclusive Martin Kovich talent. “She wasn’t thinking or talking too clearly. I doubt a dispatcher could have deciphered a word. I better pay attention to the road. I’ll call you soon as I know more.”
“Thanks. Thanks, Marty.”
Jack looked at the phone. He couldn’t find the Off button.
Sophie took it from him. “Is Jill all right?”
“He, um, he thinks so.”
“What happened?”
He blinked and she came into focus. He repeated what Marty had told him.
When he finished, he pressed his hand to his mouth. Visions of Jill came to mind. Injured? Scared? Going into shock?
Dying?
He was a physician. He handled emergencies. He stopped bleeding and stitched skin back together. He fixed bones.
But Jill had always handled Connor’s gushing wounds and bruised knees. Connor had even bandaged Jill’s cut finger once. He was five years old. Jack had watched, silently nauseous.
“Jack, don’t go there.”
“What?” He saw Sophie again.
She stood. “Don’t go to the worst. Try to call her. If Marty talked to Viv . . .” She shrugged. “Connor needs to hear from you too. I’ll go cancel the rest of your day.” She walked out the door.
He’d never wished his wife harm. Never wished her off the face of the earth.
He’d only wanted not to be with her.
He reached for his cell phone.
Chapter 36
Red Gulch Canyon
Jill huddled in row five, seat one, reclined position, left side of the bus, wrapped in a blanket, a cold pack pressed to her forehead.
In row five, right side, Viv lay across both seats, her legs propped on pillows and dangling into the aisle.
In row one, left side, both seats in full recline position, the body of Agnes Smith lay under a blanket. From head to toe.
It was the only thing they could do.
The six other women of the Casitas Pack sat scattered about. Martha, Iris, Ruthie, Cynthia, Yolanda, and Lila had made her and Viv comfortable. Martha had strapped Viv’s arm to a board to immobilize it. They somehow managed to lift Agnes onto the seat and then prayed, diffe
rent traditions meshing to honor the dead. Now they sang and kept up spirited conversation, mostly stories about Agnes.
“Viv.” Jill’s head pounded with the talking effort but she wanted to keep checking on her sister, even if the others were also. Her sister was in the worst shape.
“Mm.”
“If I were stranded on a desert island and could choose six others to be with me, this is them.”
“You didn’t count me.”
“Nope. You have wimped out on us. No one else even has a bruise. Not counting my bump.”
“What were you doing out of your seat?” Viv had already asked that twice. Either the shock was dulling her mind or she just could not believe her sister would do such a stupid thing.
“Going after Agnes.” They had all talked about the woman’s odd words, which of course the pack did not find odd in the least. “Great timing on your part, braking and swerving right at the moment she stood up.” The teasing did not quite come across. “You know I’m joking.”
“Mm.”
“Keep talking please.”
“Can’t.”
Jill caught Martha’s eye. The woman reached over the back of Viv’s seat and laid a hand on her forehead and murmured. From what Jill had observed over the past two hours, she was praying for the shock to recede, for medics to arrive soon.
Viv had hung in as long as she could. Hers was the only phone with a signal and she used it to call Marty. Jill had groaned when she overheard Viv talking to him and not an emergency operator. But after listening to her incoherent screeching, she figured it was for the best. Her phone lost its signal then. It never came back.
But Marty could be counted on.
Jack was . . . far away.
Outside, the storm was long gone. It was their nature. Blow in, blow through, blow out. Wreak havoc, pitch every loose bit of rock and dirt and plant against whatever was in the path. Screaming meemy winds deafened and then went quiet.
But the women were not going anywhere. The bus had come to rest wedged between boulders as tall as the turtle top Viv loved so much. The driver’s door would not open. The window of the back exit door was completely covered with dirt and rock. From the size of the rocks, the debris was not simply dust stuck to the window. There was a pile of it against the door. Cynthia and Lila confirmed that when they were unable to budge it.
