by Kelly Irvin
“I reckon I do.” Never in his life could Andy imagine having this conversation with an English man—or any man. “I didn’t plan it this way.”
“Nope. Life threw you a big old curveball.”
“Now my father, whose health is poor, wants me to come back here to live and work with my bruders.”
“Another curveball.”
“Christine can’t go back to Kootenai on her own. She has no family there now. She’d have to stay in St. Ignatius or go to her parents in Kansas.”
“Or you two get hitched and she comes to Lewistown.”
“I didn’t get the impression she would consider that option right now.”
“She needs time to adjust. She had a picture of you and of the two of you together. The picture shifted.” John popped the recliner back so his feet were up, and patted the armrest. Misty hopped from the couch and raced to join him. “Right now you need to figure out what you want. What’s best for you. Get your life in order before you try to fix things with Christine.”
Good advice, but easier said than done. Rather than respond, Andy sipped his coffee and studied the trees blowing outside Lois’s floor-to-ceiling living room windows. The branches bent low to the ground in a blustery north wind. If only it would rain. Rain would extinguish the forest fires.
If he looked closely at his heart, would he find that he wanted to go to Kootenai because it was his home now, or was he simply escaping his past? Would a better son ignore his own desires—and those of the woman he loved—and stay in his hometown for his father’s sake?
“Sorry to ask, but do you mind taking me to my father’s?”
“No worries, but you should stay for dinner. Lois is making my favorite beef-spinach-mushroom lasagna.” John flipped the lever and sat upright in the chair. Misty whined, but John stood anyway, the dog under one arm. “It’s my last night here. I want to get back to Eureka. I promised the boys I’d take them hunting next weekend. My wife needs a girls’ weekend with her sisters. Besides, I hate spending too much time away from her. She’s my girl.”
John and his wife had one of those time-and-tragedy-tested marriages that seemed to grow stouter every year. John didn’t talk about it much, but enough to know there had been a little girl who died of a birth defect before the boys were born. Andy had attended their thirtieth anniversary celebration the previous year. Madison claimed John’s trademark humor was the reason they managed to stay together. That green snake envy threatened to wind itself around Andy’s neck and slither down his lonely body.
“That sounds fun. I’ll catch a ride with another driver when I’m ready to return to Kootenai—if I do.”
“No way. I brought you here. Call me when you’re ready.”
“We’ll see.”
He stopped by the kitchen to thank Lois for her hospitality and then followed John to his SUV. A few minutes later they were on the road. John didn’t try to make conversation, which suited Andy just fine. His friend turned up the radio and sang along with a country song about sitting on a pier drinking a beer. Despite the words, it sounded sad. John had a nice tenor, and he lifted his voice as they turned onto the street that led to Highway 87 south toward Moore where most of the Plain families had their properties.
He stopped at the light, and the music gave way to a commercial. John grimaced. “My sons say I should make music lists on Spotify or some such thing. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to commercials or songs I don’t like. Of course I have no idea what they’re talking about.”
“Don’t ask me.” Andy leaned forward to reach the volume knob. “I like it quiet. The birds singing is enough music for me.”
The light turned green, and John took off into the intersection. A big, black fume-spewing truck barreled toward them from the left, running the red light. “John, look out!”
John slammed on the brakes.
The brakes squealed. Rubber burned.
Too late. No way to brace for it. Nowhere to go. Nothing to be done.
The mammoth truck slammed head-on into the Suburban’s driver’s side.
Metal screeched against metal.
The world spun at a dizzying speed. The landscape whirled.
An air bag blew up. It whipped Andy back against the seat. His neck snapped.
A fleeting image of a county fair carnival ride danced in Andy’s head.
I don’t like it.
Gott, help us. Gott, stop it. You have control. Not me. Only You.
Andy’s seat belt strangled his body. Ribs popped. His head slammed against the door. Lights exploded inside his brain.
The air bag deflated, sending puffs of white powder dancing in the air.
As suddenly as it began, the sickening ride ceased.
His body, which seemed to have a mind independent of his brain, wanted to slump forward, but the seat belt held with bruising intent.
Open your eyes. Open them. See if you’re alive.
To have died wouldn’t be so bad. No more trying to figure this life out.
Pain. Pain. There would be no pain if he were dead.
His eyes didn’t want to open. Open. Come on. You’re no coward. Look. John might need your help.
Propelled by that thought, Andy sat up. Pain pulsated through his body. Blood dripped from his nose.
Definitely alive. Danki, Gott. I think.
Hoping to clear the fog, he shook his head. Bad move. Pain ricocheted from his gut to his chest to his head and back. His stomach lurched. The cherry pie and coffee threatened to spill out.
“John? John.” Andy meant to shout, but only a puny whisper emerged. He coughed and cleared his throat. “John? Are you all right?”
No answer.
Sirens sounded in the distance. An ugly high-pitched shriek that never meant anything good filled the air.
Strangers’ faces appeared in the smoky air that surrounded the mangled SUV. They jabbered and pointed. One took pictures with his phone. Another paced with a phone to his ear. A guy pulled on his door, but it didn’t open.
Andy closed his eyes and swallowed the bile that burned his tongue. The metallic taste of blood from his tongue made him gag.
Get up. Get out. Move.
Andy tried to shift in his seat. His shaking hands couldn’t connect with his seat belt. A great weight seemed to hold him there. He forced his eyes open and cocked his head to one side.
Need to see. Where is John? Donut?
The driver’s side door had caved in with the force of the crash. The SUV’s frame crumpled and smashed inward so that the front seat no longer had space for two. The weight against Andy shifted. His neck and shoulder complained. He looked down.
John.
He lay almost prone, his head near Andy’s lap. Blood and tissue muddied the side of his face. His head looked swollen and misshapen.
The truck’s front end had crushed him. His head rolled back. His eyes were wide open, his expression frozen in surprise. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
“Ach, John.”
His throat clogged with tears, Andy gritted his teeth to hold back sobs. Ignoring a stranger who ripped open his door and reached for him, Andy hugged John to his aching chest. He patted his friend’s still warm, bruised cheek. “I’m sorry, freind.” A sob escaped. Andy tried to wrangle it back. “You go on ahead.”
A keening howl from the back seat told Andy that Donut joined in his mourning.
John’s days in this world were done.
15
Lewistown, Montana
Puke or pass out? Andy stuck his head between his knees and fought to breathe. The hospital air reeked of antiseptic and cleansers. Neither odor helped. The Montana Medical Center emergency room doctor said the light-headedness would ebb after his blood pressure receded from the stratosphere. The doctor looked like a young kid, but he talked like a walking dictionary. After expressing his disapproval of Andy’s refusal to submit to X-rays or scans, he’d completed his exam with quick efficiency followed by the pronouncement,
“You were lucky. Abrasions and contusions. You’ll be stiff and sore for a few days, but you’ll be fine.”
Lucky didn’t belong in any scenario involving a fatal traffic accident caused by a man who glanced down at a text message while driving. A penitent man who kept telling Andy over and over how sorry he was at the crash scene as medics forced Andy to lie on a gurney and be shoved into an ambulance he didn’t need.
What would happen to the driver now? He ran a red light. John died as a result. The driver didn’t mean to do it. Accidents were accidents. The proper thing to do now was forgive.
The bruises on Andy’s body were tiny compared to the one that turned his heart into one massive ache. Give me the strength, the fortitude, to forgive, Gott. I can’t do it on my own.
Andy needed forgiveness. For John’s death. If Andy hadn’t asked him for a ride, the man would be alive now. He needed to be forgiven for his inability to forgive others. The plank in his eye made it impossible for him to see.
Who would tell John’s beloved wife, Madison? Who would tell his three sons that there would be no hunting trip with their father next weekend or ever again?
A Fergus County sheriff’s deputy stepped into the tiny exam room with the belt around his substantial girth weighted down with his gun and other equipment Andy had no desire to identify. A hefty man with heavy jowls and red cheeks, he filled a space already claustrophobic in size. All the air seemed to whoosh from the room, replaced by this gargantuan man with a kind face and a handlebar mustache. He held a pen and pad dwarfed by his hand and his cowboy hat in the other. “Excuse me, sir. The doctor said I could have a word now that he’s looked you over.”
“I’m Andy. No need to ‘sir’ me. Can you tell me where my dog is? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s making the rounds in the parking lot out back with one of my buddies. Everyone wants to pet him.” That was Donut. Making friends wherever he went. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“Go ahead.”
Even if Andy had no answers. A split-second recognition that pain barreled toward them. Dawning horror. No time. No time to do anything. A vague recollection that an enormous, brutal, black truck with a shiny chrome bumper and bright lights hurtled toward them. The foggy, dim memory of an apologetic man dressed in camo from head to foot who tried to talk to him afterward. His beard bobbed and his lips moved, but no sound penetrated the ringing in Andy’s ears.
“Your account matches that of several witnesses at the scene.” The deputy scribbled in his notebook. He didn’t look up. “The driver admits he was distracted. He was arguing with his wife via text about a hunting trip she didn’t want him to take.”
“I guess she got her way now.” The words sounded cold in Andy’s ears.
The deputy nodded. “Where were you and the victim going?”
“John was taking me home—to my father’s home between Lewistown and Moore.”
“What were you doing before he gave you a lift?”
“Drinking coffee. Eating cherry pie.” Andy’s stomach heaved. Acid burned the back of his throat. He swallowed and reached for the blue barf bag the nurse had given him when he first arrived. “Talking.”
“No alcohol? Hot toddy? Bailey’s?”
“No.” A red tide of anger roared through Andy. He gritted his teeth against it. John did not drink and drive. He took his job as a driver seriously. “John wasn’t at fault.”
“I have to ask these questions as part of my investigation. I’m sorry for your loss.” The deputy slapped the notebook shut and stuck it in his pants pocket. “Your family’s out there waiting to see you.”
How had they known? The deputy didn’t give Andy time to ask questions. He disappeared through the curtains, leaving Andy to try out his legs. He slid from the exam table, stood, wobbled, and plopped onto a nearby stool.
He dressed quickly and then took a moment to practice breathing. In, out, in, out. Like a toddler just learning to walk, he stood again. This time his legs obeyed. He put one foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. Past other exam rooms filled with an elderly man with a breathing mask over his face, a crying child whose mother tried to shush him, and a man who’d sliced off his finger in a cross saw.
Mother saw him first. She rushed across the waiting room and crashed into him. Her hug nearly knocked him from his unsteady feet. “How did you know?”
“John’s brother-in-law came to our door.” She hugged him again and then leaned back to inspect him. His brothers stood shoulder to shoulder watching. “He said the sheriff came to their door with terrible news.”
“Is John’s fraa here? I need to tell her how sorry I am.” Andy tugged free of her grip. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t asked John for a ride, he’d still be here.”
“It’s not your fault.” Stephen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Tethered emotion made his voice hoarse. “The deputy told us. The other driver ran the light. He smashed into John’s Suburban. It was his time.”
“It’s not your fault.” Lois’s voice sounded wispy, not like the snappy voice of the woman who’d offered him cherry pie what seemed like years earlier. Stephen and Wallace parted to allow her to approach Andy. Her husband had a tight grip on her arm. “We had to stop here to make sure you’re okay. I had to see for myself.”
Grief made her seem tiny and frail. Her shoulders stooped and she staggered. Her eyes and nose were red and snot trickled from her nostrils. She looked how Andy felt. He grasped the shaking hand she held out. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never experienced something like this.” To be with a man who was alive and singing sad country music songs one minute and dead the next boggled the mind. Death was part of life. But to have it occur so close, within inches of his own body, shook him to the core. “Sorry is a stupid, inadequate word.”
“John wouldn’t want us to grieve.” Her voice quivered. “He’s in heaven now, grilling sweet Jesus on everything from how He came up with the cocoon-to-butterfly thing to why He doesn’t hurry up and return.”
Her faith made his seem puny. “Does Madison know?”
“The sheriff in Lincoln County and their preacher went over to the house and delivered the news.” This time her voice broke. She swiped at her nose with a crumpled, sodden tissue. “Her parents are with her and the kids. Greg and I are headed there from here. The whole family will descend. Don’t you worry. They’ll be swaddled in love.”
Her swift hug took him by surprise. The knot in his throat grew. “Tell her . . . tell her I’m sorry.”
“She knows, Andy, she knows.”
Her husband put his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the exit.
It would be nice to follow them out, to return home. The desire overwhelmed him. The fir-scented mountain air, the chatter of the birds, the heat of the sun on his face—those were the medicines he needed in order to heal. In nature he felt closest to God. As had John. His friend didn’t talk about his faith much, but he’d said once that he loved to camp and hike because nature reminded him of how carefully and artfully God had created it.
Nowhere in the world was that more evident than in the mountains of northwest Montana.
“Let’s go home.” Mother squeezed his hand and let it drop. “You need to rest.”
“I need to get my dog, and I need to go home—to my home.” The hurt look on Mother’s face made him wince. “Not now, but soon. As soon as they let us back into Kootenai, I need to rebuild and get on with my life.”
Mother couldn’t understand. No one could who hadn’t seen a man so alive leave his body so abruptly and with such violent force.
God numbered their days on earth. Andy was simply passing through. In the meantime he meant to make the most of his days.
He would rebuild. He would ask Christine to marry him. Thy will be done, Gott. Thy will be done.
16
St. Ignatius / Polson, Montana
If this were a date—and it wasn’t—the awkwardness would be understandable. Raymond rushed
around to the passenger side of his ancient fern-green Volvo station wagon and jerked open the door for Christine. It tended to stick. She ducked her head, murmured her thanks, and slid in. He shut the door.
Of course now it decided not to stay shut. He slammed it a second time. Stay. Stay. The door cooperated. He whipped back to his side, stumbled over a rock, righted himself, and jumped in. Deep breath. Despite a cool northerly breeze, his hands were sweaty and his long-sleeved henley shirt stuck to his back.
This was ridiculous. He heaved another breath and offered Christine his best smile. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
“I said I would.” Her forehead wrinkled, but she returned the smile. Her azure eyes were made bluer by the matching color of her ankle-length dress. “I always try to follow through when I say I’ll do something. Don’t you?”
“An idea might seem good in the moment, but after careful thought, its foolhardiness becomes apparent.” Gramma’s words sounded odd spoken in his deep bass. “You don’t know me, and you’re hopping in my car to take a ride. If I were your brother or father, I’d scold you.”
“So would mine, but they’re in Kansas now.”
“Why are you not with them?”
She studied her hands clasped in her lap for a few seconds. “I asked to be allowed to stay with my aunt and uncle here in St. Ignatius for personal reasons. Now it seems I may have made a mistake.”
Her gaze lifted to his. It seemed she would say more, but the seconds ticked by and she remained silent. Raymond jumped in to ease her obvious discomfort. “Are you sure you want to spend your day off with me?”
“It depends on what that means.” Her beautiful eyes studied him intently. “I prayed last night that I wouldn’t regret a rash decision.”
