“One thing. Sum it up so we can look forward to next week.”
She chewed at her lip, weighed her options. “God showed me He can use anyone. And I realized I need to be less about myself, more about others.”
Kyle nodded. “I think we all do.” He fingered the edge of his guitar, his gaze distant.
Thunk. Jayce popped the body of his guitar with the heel of his hand. “Tune in next week for the real story.”
People chuckled.
And then the room filled with music. She almost felt like grabbing a guitar herself. Kasia reveled in it. For months, she’d missed these songs, these friends. But she wouldn’t trade the experience of worshipping with Peruvians on a packed-dirt floor up in the mountains.
She opted out of the discussion, listened as the Bible study went on around her.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she lost herself in prayer.
Her eyes opened.
People stood around her, chatted and gathered their things to leave. She’d slept through the end of the meeting. Unbelievable.
“Somebody’s exhausted.” Kyle offered her a hand up.
He looked as if he had a lot to say, but Kasia lacked the energy for conversation. She smiled at him and quickly searched out her dad’s face. When she met his gaze, his eyes crinkled in the loving smile that was all Tatuś. He held out an arm for her to find shelter under.
“You tired, Curly-Q?” His voice buzzed against her ear.
She yawned.
“We look forward to seeing you, A.J.,” Tatuś said. “All of you.”
Kasia nodded. In two weeks, she’d live down here again. Close to all of them.
She followed Tatuś out the door and glanced in the direction of Blake’s window. The blinds moved. Kasia blinked.
The fatigue must be playing tricks on her.
22
Hollow.
Zan’s heart was an empty fifty-five-gallon drum. He’d sat by Bailey’s bedside for hours every day, willed her to give him any indication she’d be all right. Other than the slight rise and fall of her chest, she was still as stone. She could hear him in there, couldn’t she?
They’d shaved the left side of her head for the emergency surgery to stop the bleeding in her brain, and the bandage around her head looked tight and miserable. Probably light-years better than the injured spine and broken jaw though. Part of him was thankful they’d decided on a medically induced coma. At least she wouldn’t hurt herself trying to move around.
But he needed to hear her voice before he left Charleston. Zan spilled his fear and regret into her hospital room, but he found no peace. If he’d just been a few moments sooner…if he’d walked outside with her…
The blood-pressure cuff broke the silence with its occasional beep and whirr. He took her frail hand in his own and wished for a miracle.
His mom startled him as she rested her cool hand on his neck. “What time does check-in start?” She kneaded the taut muscles gently. It didn’t help much.
“Three.”
“Zan, it’s already noon, and you’ve got at least a three-and-a-half hour drive up there. You need to get on the road.”
“I know. I’m loaded up and all, but…” He studied the pattern in the floor tiles. “Doesn’t feel right leaving. How long will she be like this?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Maybe another week. I think she’s as comfortable as we can hope. But you’ve got a second chance at this new school, and Bailey wouldn’t want you to throw it away on her account.”
He nodded. “It’s just hard to drive away—not saying goodbye.”
“I’m sure she hears you.” Li’l Mama’s eyes filled with compassion. “She’s stable, and the doctors said they’ll start weaning her from the meds at the end of the week. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
He dipped his head, resigned. Bailey couldn’t be in better hands. Michael was locked up for aggravated assault and battery, and for ignoring the restraining order.
Zan hoped he’d rot in prison. The attorney said although Mike could press charges against Zan for beating him senseless, it’d be foolish. One look at photos of her swollen, misshapen face would convince anyone Zan’s defense was reasonable.
His eyes burned.
He stood and wrapped Li’l Mama in a hug. “She’ll be fine. You get some rest too, all right?”
“I’ll do my best.”
He gave her a definitive nod and a smile as he turned to go. When the door closed behind him, he let the strong façade drop. Walking away from Bailey like this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
~*~
Kasia woke with the sun. For the bulk of Wednesday morning, she recorded her homecoming thoughts and reread her journal. Oj, was she naïve when she got there.
The only things left to do were to order a bound copy of the photo calendar she and Grace had finished and drop off her signed housing contract.
As she burned her file to a disk, Mama knocked and peeked in. “Hey, I wondered if I could interest you in a break and some Lady Grey. Give us a chance to talk while Lenka and Dad aren’t around.”
“Sure.” She slid her work into her backpack and hopped off the bed, followed her mom into the kitchen. The teacups were already on the table. Steam swirled up from the rims. Kasia pulled out a chair.
Mama poured some loose tea leaves into infusers and set them gently into the cups. “I really only have two questions. What was your favorite part? And what was the hardest part?”
Kasia chuckled. “Can I start with the hardest?” She tilted her head, sifted through her experiences.
“I guess—the biggest thing was…” She thought of the language barriers, of the effort it took to build trust with her students so the real ministry could happen outside of class, of the lying taxi drivers who treated her like a stupid gringa tourist.
But one thing stood out from all that.
Kasia set her gaze on Mama’s face. “I’m still not sleeping.”
“Still? Oh, Kasiu. You must be exhausted.”
“I don’t even want to try to sleep, because I always have nightmares.”
Her mom’s mouth quirked in compassion. “To do with Blake?”
She nodded. “Sometimes. And other times, I feel like I’m being watched, hunted. It’s like there’s something lurking out there. Mama, what else can I do? It’s not like I haven’t asked God to take these from me. I’ve begged.”
“I don’t know, Kasiu. Is there something you’re holding on to?”
“Like what?” It was hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I’ve asked God to forgive me. What else do I have to do?”
“It’s not what you need to do, as much as…I don’t know, love. But I’ll pray the Lord shows you. And I’ll listen any time you need me.”
Her mom paused. “There’s the matter of getting a protective order…”
Ah, the unwelcome reminder. “Mamusiu, how do we know if I need it? And they might not even let me. Blake hasn’t done anything to me for months.” In her mind, getting the order equaled letting Blake win.
“Your dad has already spoken to Sheriff Schilling about it. Since Blake was charged with assault—even if the charges were dropped—a temporary restraining order would most likely be granted immediately. Until the hearing can be scheduled.”
“Can we wait and see if he’s a bother? If he’s not, I just want to drop it, you know?”
Her mom covered Kasia’s hand with her own. “Your dad and I aren’t convinced—”
Kasia sighed. “I know. But have you guys seen him? Talked to any of the Hamiltons? He’s probably moved on—maybe even dating someone by now. I’d like to start the year in good faith. See what happens.”
“I’ll talk with your dad again, but no promises.”
“Thank you.” She sure wouldn’t expect a miracle.
“Tell me about your favorite part.”
“The stars. Definitely the stars. The further we got from civilization, the brighter the
y were. Matchless.”
~*~
Zan sped north, one hand on the roll bar, one on the wheel. The mellow tunes of Jack Johnson weren’t working their usual magic. All he could think was Bailey. Thankfully, there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic, and he made good time. It only seemed like the hours dragged.
There hadn’t been much opportunity for sleep in the last few days, what with bedside vigils, police reports, and legal pow-wows with the family attorney. He needed to get his brain in gear. In ten minutes, he had an impression to make, and he needed it to be stellar.
He smiled as he passed the store where he had his surprise run-in with Auburn. Would she be friendly this time around?
Back and forth on the serpentine road out of downtown Huntington and onto campus, he began to focus. He checked his map and found the lot closest to the field. Only ten minutes late—better than he’d expected. He parked the CJ and hopped out, tossed his duffel over his shoulder. Were they going to throw awhile or just get room assignments and practice later?
A few guys stood over by the dugout, so Zan made his way over. Nobody was dressed for practice. Markman lifted his clipboard in greeting. “Good to see you, Zan. How was your summer up north?”
“Beneficial, I think.”
The other guys gave him nods of welcome and took off.
“I heard about Bailey, and I’m sorry. How is she?”
He gave a quick rundown.
“You ready to be here?”
“I can’t lie. I’m pretty distracted, but I know I need to be all in—I want to.”
“Give me what you can. We don’t start until Monday morning at nine. It’ll be all day every day until the semester starts though.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks again for the opportunity. ”
Coach picked up his duffel and stuck the clipboard under his arm. “Come on.”
Neither spoke until they got to the lot.
“Zan.”
He lifted his head.
“If you need me, I spend a lot of time at Bleacher Bums. You know the sports bar downtown?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”
“Come by if you need to talk.”
Zan dipped his head and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Thanks.”
He drove toward the dorms and found a parking spot. Nobody much was back on campus yet. Maybe his roommate was still at home for the summer. At least he’d have time to sort out his junk without a whole lot of get-to-know-you.
He found the door to his dorm, hoisted his load of bags and packs, and hit the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell. No obvious signs of life here, just the stink of fresh paint in a confined space. By the time he made it to the end of the hallway, a headache whizzed toward him like a line drive. Priority number one: open the window.
He turned the key and shoved the door open.
Well, either his roommate didn’t believe in packing up for breaks, or he’d been here for the summer session. Zan pulled in his stuff from the hallway, tossed his bag onto the empty bed, and let his gaze wander over his new home away from home. Not exactly spacious, but this guy had managed to make his side look decent. His bed was elevated, his desk underneath, and the wall dotted with photos. A guitar and some other instrument in its case sat in the corner underneath a picture of some old jazz trio and a poster of Fenway Park. One of the dressers had a coffeemaker and an iPod docking station—with a killer set of speakers mounted near the ceiling.
So, a musician. Probably all studious and reserved if his neatness was any indication. Zan could stand a little working music himself. The silence made his head ring, and Bailey’s face was always there. He wished they’d dived right into baseball. Thirty-six hours to kill on his own.
He flipped open his phone and checked in with his mom—pretty much the same.
Fifteen minutes later, window open, Zan blared his music and started unpacking. Had he heard the door? He glanced over his shoulder as he tucked some shirts in a drawer.
And smiled. He’d been dead wrong about studious and reserved.
His roommate tossed a pair of drumsticks onto his desk and extended a hand. “Jayce McEwan, man. You here for ball?”
Zan gripped his hand and tried to place the accent. Probably Boston if he was a Sox fan. “Alexander Maddox, but Zan works. Practice starts first thing Monday morning.”
“Good deal. Ya got meetings and stuff tonight, or ya want the grand tour?” Jayce didn’t look the invasive-questions type.
“Just campus, or were you thinking downtown—you don’t have anything else going on?”
“Nah, whatever you want. My girl’s workin’, and I’m wide open.”
The busier, the better. “Yeah, man. I’ll take you up on that.” The last thing he needed was to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling—and see only his sister’s bruised and bandaged face.
The place Jayce took him smelled like one of those greasy dives that completely satisfied. Zan slid into the vinyl booth across from his roommate, hoped his stomach would begin to feel full again. The whole weight of Bailey’s suffering bore down on him, and he studied the laminated menu. Didn’t matter that he had no appetite.
Jayce drummed a distracting rhythm on the tabletop.
Zan tossed him a half-hearted smile. “I saw that Fenway poster in the room. You a fan?”
Jayce laughed and popped the edge of the table with decision. “Am I a fan? You ever meet anybody from Southie before?”
“Nope.”
“Welp, back in the day, my old man used to take me and a few o’ the boys up to every game we could afford. We shoveled walks all winter, washed cars all summer. Woulda cut grass if anybody in Southie had a yard. If we got the seats up on top of the Green Monster, we could go about once a month. It was rowdy, but watching Manny Ramirez hit a home run at me before he got run outta town was the sweetest part of my childhood. ’Zat answer your question?”
Zan grinned. “I guess it does. Did your dad ever get to see Roger Clemens play?”
“Yeah. He loves Clemens. Who’re your boys?”
“Chicago.”
“Fly the W, yeah? You a long-time fan or just proud of ’em for finally winning the World Series?”
Zan grinned. “Generations. My middle name’s Banks. After Ernie.”
“Respect.” Jayce nodded.
Jayce made conversation easy. By the end of the night, Zan looked forward to the semester. It’d be good to have somebody around that he didn’t have to spend every day and every road trip with. And there was some sort of unspoken agreement to stay out of touchy territory.
When they got back to the room, Jayce hopped in the shower. Zan took the opportunity to call and check in with his mom one more time. No change. He hadn’t expected any different, but it still deflated him somehow. He slumped onto the bed, kicked off his shoes, pulled his shirt over his head. The day felt too long again.
He was almost under the covers when Jayce stepped out and set a folded pile of clothes on his chair.
“Goin’ somewhere?”
“Church. 9:30 tomorrow mornin’.” He plopped a worn-out Bible beside the clothes and grabbed a helmet from underneath his desk.
Was there some cosmic force putting Christians around Zan everywhere he went? Bailey. Caleb and Chen. Now Jayce. The fact that Jayce was into all this surprised him though.
Jayce lifted his chin. “Wanna go with?”
Zan narrowed his eyes at Jayce, studied him for a minute. “Well, I won’t ride on the back of your bike with my arms around your waist.”
Jayce smirked and set the helmet back under the desk. “No problem. You can drive.”
Wait. Had he just agreed to go to church? At 9:30 in the morning? For a minute, he thought about telling Jayce he was just mouthing off. And then he saw Bailey’s face the last time it looked whole and perfect—telling him how much she loved Jesus.
Jayce didn’t stand there waiting for an answer. He did a few other things and then stood by the door, hand on the light switch. “Y
ou all right if I hit this now?”
“Yeah, man.”
Jayce turned off the light, and Zan could hear him climbing into his bed.
In the darkness, with no eyes on him, Zan spoke up once more. “9:30.”
Jayce shifted and the bed creaked. “Yup. And you don’t have to dress up.”
Zan turned over. Thank God.
23
When the soft light streamed through the blinds, Zan’s bleary gaze wandered the room. It took a minute to think where he was.
And then he remembered he was going to church today for the first time in his life.
So. How was he supposed to do this? Not dress up, Jayce said. Shorts? Jeans? He stretched, swung his feet out of bed, actually curious. Sort of.
Maybe.
He climbed into the shower, let the water hit him straight in the face.
He wanted answers to those questions he’d asked Bailey. Wanted to know how forgiving a wife-beater could possibly be right. His heart welled up with emotion, and Zan didn’t try to contain it.
He let his words fall with the stream of thudding water. “Hey, God? Why didn’t You handle Bailey better? I was right there. You could’ve made her stay with me or something.”
Zan pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wanted to shout but couldn’t stand the possibility of Jayce hearing him. “There’s so much I don’t get. I don’t know if I can trust You, but—if You’ll take care of Bay—I’ll give You a shot. It’s all I’ve got for now, but I’ll give You that.”
Jayce wasn’t kidding about clothes. He sported a black U2 T-shirt with jeans, his wallet attached with a chain.
Zan chose a plaid shirt with khakis, rolled up the sleeves. “Do I need to take anything?”
“Nope.”
If Jayce had any idea this was Zan’s first time going to church, he didn’t act surprised.
They swung into Java the Hutt for breakfast and coffee to go, and Zan choked down his bagel and cream cheese just as he climbed back behind the wheel.
When they pulled into the church lot, Zan’s chest was tight. “Listen, Jayce. I’ve never…I don’t really know why I’m here. I’m not a church guy, and I don’t know what I believe about God. This is my first time.”
Strains of Silence Page 17
