Night Light

  Kay’s eyes widened. “You guys went to church?”

  “Just Bible school,” Aaron muttered. “They had a bus from one of the churches that came to get us. We learned stuff there.”

  Good, Doug thought. That gave them a starting place. “Okay, then let’s sing ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ ”

  It had been years since Doug had sung the words to that song, but as they sang, he realized the message bore an eternal truth. One he desperately wanted these children to learn. Aaron, arms crossed and head hanging, didn’t sing. Joey followed suit, but Luke and Sarah sang their hearts out, delighted that the others knew their song.

  When they finished singing, they all sat down.

  “Guys, I didn’t know your mom. But you did. Why don’t you tell us some of the good things you remember about her?”

  Luke raised his hand. “I know something.”

  Aaron frowned at him.

  “Go ahead, Luke,” Kay said.

  He gave them a self-conscious grin. “She was pretty, and her hair was soft. And she was always nice.”

  Kay stroked his hair. “Good, Luke. That’s a nice memory. Anything else?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yeah. She told me a story one time.”

  One time? Kay glanced at Doug.

  “It was about a turtle and a rabbit.”

  The Tortoise and the Hare, Doug thought. “I think I know that story.”

  “And she never hit us or nothin’.”

  The last phrase stopped Doug cold. Why would a kid remember that as a happy memory?

  Sarah popped her thumb out of her mouth, and gave him an indignant look. “Yes, she did, Luke.”

  Luke frowned and shook his head, as if to silence her. “No, she didn’t. She was nice. And her hair was soft.”

  “Did too hit us,” Sarah said again.

  Aaron spoke up then, as if to draw attention off his sister. “Sometimes she was fun. She would take us to the park and play Frisbee with us.”

  Joey shot him a confused look. A signal seemed to pass between them, and finally Joey jumped in. “Yeah. And she liked to decorate for Christmas. She’d bring home a Christmas tree and have all these presents under it. We always got more than anybody else at Christmas.”

  Doug looked at his wife. Were they making it up?

  Sarah looked confused. “When?”

  “Last Christmas,” Aaron said. “Remember when you got your baby?”

  Sarah looked down at her dirty baby doll, as if trying to remember when she’d gotten it. It looked much older than eight months old. That doll had been dragged around for years, probably by someone even before Sarah was born.

  But she slowly put her thumb back into her mouth and accepted that.

  Anger roiled up inside Doug at the woman who had been such a poor mother that her own children couldn’t think of anything honest and good to say about her. He wondered why Jessie hadn’t just given the children over to her parents, if she cared so little about them.

  When there was clearly nothing more to say, Kay got the potted rosebush she had dug up from the Caldwells’ yard, after Brad and Judith decided to dig up the flower garden so they could plant vegetables.

  “Now we’re going to dig a hole at the back of the yard,” she said, “and we’ll plant this little rosebush in your mother’s memory. As it grows, you can remember her.”

  They went to the back of the lawn and dug the hole, then Kay gave the plant to Joey to put into the ground. He set it gently down, then pushed the mound of dirt on top of it and patted it down.

  “The best thing your mother ever gave you was each other,” Kay said softly. “And for that, you can be thankful. If you’d like to say good-bye to your mom, why don’t each of you take a handful of dirt and sprinkle it at the base of the rosebush?”

  When none of the children stepped forward to do it, Deni did, then Beth, then Logan and Jeff. Finally, Luke came forward, that self-conscious five-year-old grin on his face again. He swept up some dirt into his hand and sprinkled it carefully over the fresh soil around the plant.

  Then Sarah stepped up and took some dirt into her hand. Sprinkling it, she said, “Asha to asha, dirt to dirt …”

  Kay stooped next to her. “What did you say?”

  Sarah was happy to repeat it. “Asha to asha, dirt to dirt …”

  Deni frowned. “Did she mean ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’?”

  Luke’s grin grew bigger. “Yeah, that’s it!”

  “Where did she learn that?” Doug asked Aaron.

  He shrugged. “Who knows? TV prob’ly.” He picked up his own handful and tossed it onto the dirt.

  Doug talked a little about heaven, careful not to give assurances that Jessie was there. As he spoke, Joey, Luke, and Sarah hung onto every word.

  But Aaron wasn’t buying a word of it.

  twenty-six

  DENI’S EYES WERE TIRED, AND THE YELLOW GLOW OF THE OIL lamp in her father’s study didn’t provide quite enough light. But Jessie Gatlin’s little memorial service had started her thinking, and as night fell, melancholy had set in. Jessie had probably had no idea that she would die young and leave her children without even one parent. Would she have done things differently, if she’d known the legacy she would leave behind?

  Life was short. Too short to waste on fruitless things.

  And the depression Deni had been fighting over Craig was fruitless.

  Yes, she was disappointed in the letter he’d sent her. She had brooded long enough, nursing her wounds, trying to see it in a different light. She’d tried to latch onto Mark’s take on the letter, but somehow, deep inside, she couldn’t make herself believe that Craig’s unspoken love had been hidden between the lines.

  But if they ever hoped for their impending marriage to work, she needed to be honest with him about how the letter had hurt her. So she started a new letter.

  Dear Craig,

  It was so good to finally get a letter from you, after eleven weeks with no word. I was disappointed in its tone, though. Maybe you didn’t mean to sound uncaring. I had just hoped for a little more.

  She paused for a moment, hoping she didn’t sound like a lovesick teenager.

  A high-pitched scream cracked through the night, startling her, and she got up and stood behind the door, listening for the source.

  It was Sarah.

  Deni ran up the stairs in the dark, feeling her way to the landing. She followed the sound of the crying to the room Sarah had been sleeping in.

  Moonlight came in through the window, and against it, she saw the silhouette of someone in the rocking chair, holding the child. She stepped closer, listening to the words of comfort.

  “Don’t cry, Sarah. It’s okay. You’ll see. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  They were the same words Sarah had used to comfort Joey earlier. Sarah hadn’t gotten them from her mother, but from Aaron.

  She might have known.

  She stooped in front of them. “Everything okay?” she asked, stroking Sarah’s curls.

  “Yeah,” he said in a soft voice. “She just had another bad dream. But she’s okay. I’ve got her.”

  Deni knelt there for a moment, watching as Sarah’s eyes drifted closed in the safety of Aaron’s arms.

  “You’re a good brother, Aaron,” Deni whispered.

  He didn’t say anything. She wished she could see the expression on his face in the darkness.

  Finally, she left them alone and went back to her letter.

  twenty-seven

  THE NEXT DAY, AARON BEGAN PACKING. TOMORROW THEY would leave here, he had decided. Now that the sheriff knew his mother was dead, there was no telling what would happen to them. Either they’d find the grandparents who’d spent years trying to break up their family, or they’d be separated out to foster families. Either way, it wasn’t likely that anyone would want to take in all four hungry children.

  Joey came into the room. “What are you doing?”

  “Packing. We’re leaving this pla
ce tomorrow.”

  Joey looked at him like he was crazy. “Why?”

  “Because Mama’s dead, and we’re orphans now. Do you know what they do to orphans?”

  Joey sat on the bed. “No, what?”

  “They lock them up, that’s what. In some horrible orphanage with bars on the windows. Or they split up families and give each one to some fat slob who gets money for taking foster kids, and he uses the money to get drunk every night and slap the kids around.”

  “He won’t slap me around,” Joey said. “I’ll slap him back.”

  “You and me might, but what about Luke and Sarah? They’re not old enough to defend theirselves. They need us to fight for them, Joey.”

  Joey watched him throw all of his things into an old crumpled grocery sack. “But what about the Brannings? I like them. They’re nice. They said they’d keep us till they found our grandma and pop.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they said. But use your head, Joey. They’re in it for money too. The disbursement is in just a few days. They want to take us through that line so they can get our money.”

  “No, they won’t. They’re not like that, Aaron!”

  Joey could be so dumb. “Everybody’s like that, Joey. They all want something.”

  “But if we leave, we don’t get that money, anyway. We have to go with grown-ups or they won’t give it to us.”

  “Then I’ll find somebody else to take us through. Somebody at the apartments.”

  “What about Sarah?”

  Aaron stopped packing and looked at his brother. “What about her?”

  “She’s happy here. She likes having a lady taking care of her. She’s not gonna want to go. Besides, Beth promised her the part of a princess in that play she wrote. It’s about this dude who kills this big giant. And it’s got songs and stuff, and Sarah’s all excited.”

  “You sure it’s her you’re talking about? Not yourself?”

  Joey didn’t deny it. “She said I could be a soldier and have a uniform. It might be fun.”

  “We can’t stay that long,” Aaron said.

  “We have food here, Aaron. We don’t have to break into people’s houses. We have as much water as we can drink. And Doug and Jeff keep us safe.”

  “I can keep us safe. I don’t need them.”

  “You don’t even have the gun anymore. I’m just saying, Sarah’s gonna cry. She’s had enough happen to her, Aaron. Let her stay here and be happy for a while. What’s so bad about that?”

  “She might get to feeling like they’re her family, that’s what. But they’re not. And as soon as they get what they want, they’ll dump us. Then how will she feel?”

  “What if I don’t want to go?” Joey asked.

  Aaron’s eyes flashed. “I decide what we’re gonna do, Joey. Haven’t I always decided what’s best? Haven’t I always took care of all of us? Don’t you think I can do it again?”

  “But it was nice to be in a family with a mom and dad.”

  Aaron turned on him. “They’re not our family, you little twerp! We’re all the family we got. We have to stick together and do what’s right for all of us. So I don’t want to hear you whining no more. Got it?”

  Joey didn’t answer.

  “Joey, answer me.”

  Finally, his brother crossed his arms, pouting. Aaron hated it when Joey acted like some stupid little kid. Being seven was no excuse.

  “I got it,” he bit out.

  “Good,” Aaron said. “We’re going tomorrow, and that’s that. We’ll have our own play. I’ll make you a general, and Sarah can be a queen.”

  Joey kept brooding. “We don’t got a stage or costumes or music. You think you’re so smart, but you can’t do everything.”

  But Aaron didn’t feel smart at all.

  twenty-eight

  TORRENTIAL RAINS CAME JUST AFTER SUPPER, TURNING THE tilled part of the Brannings’ yard into a mud pit. Aaron hid his packed bag under the bed in Logan’s room, then went downstairs and out to the patio. He sat down, pulling his feet up onto the chair. He rested his chin on his knees and looked out at the rain, wishing tomorrow would hurry and come.

  Most of the family was in the kitchen, watching the rain out of the bay window.

  The rain had cooled the summer heat, and a breeze blew a fine mist into Aaron’s face. He wished he could walk out into the middle of it and let the warm water pour down over him, pool at his feet, then rise to his knees, his waist, his shoulders, his face. He wished he could drown in the clean warmth of it, leaving all his cares behind.

  It would be so cool if there really was a heaven, if he could just close his eyes and drift up to some beautiful place, where the lights were on and there was food hanging from trees, where his sister and brothers could be safe, where a nice God welcomed him and loved him.

  But if a God like that existed in a real heaven, he wouldn’t want the likes of Aaron Gatlin there. Not after all he’d done.

  You made your bed, now sleep in it. His mother had said that so many times, as if her own bed wasn’t a filthy mess.

  No, a real God wouldn’t have a bunch of snot-nosed orphans dirtying up his heaven. He’d be scared they’d steal some of those fancy pearls off the gate.

  A tear rolled down his face, and he roughly smeared it away. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be weak like some whiny little baby. Sarah, Luke, and Joey depended on him.

  He heard distant thunder, and the rain came harder.

  Doug and Kay came out, their arms full of recycled containers, bowls, and buckets, and they set them out in the rain to catch the water. Doug glanced at him. “Might save us a trip to the well.”

  Aaron doubted they’d catch enough to make much difference.

  “Hard rain, huh?” Doug said over the roar of rain hitting the patio roof. “We needed it.”

  Aaron didn’t turn around. He didn’t want them to see his stupid tears. Pulling up his shirt, he dried his face.

  He heard someone else come out, then Kay said, “Beth, what are you doing?”

  “Taking a shower,” she said, shooting past him out into the yard. She was wearing her bathing suit and held a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap. She walked out to a place in the yard that hadn’t been tilled and stood in the grass with her face turned up to the rain.

  “What is she doing?” It was Deni’s voice behind him, and Aaron turned and saw the rest of the family spilling out onto the patio.

  Sarah giggled wildly and jumped up and down. “I want to get wet too!”

  “Aaaah,” Beth cried. She let the rain roll through her hair, then poured out a handful of shampoo and lathered up.

  “You’re really gonna regret that when it stops raining before you can rinse,” Logan said.

  Beth just laughed. “It’s not gonna stop. Look at it! It’s pouring.”

  She rinsed the shampoo out, then started soaping her arms, her neck, her legs.

  “That’s it,” Deni said. “I’m getting into my bathing suit. Come on, Sarah. We’ll change you into something and we’ll both play in the rain. I’ve been dying for a shower.”

  Logan and Jeff pulled off their shirts and ran into the storm. Aaron dropped his feet, and a slow grin tugged at his lips. Luke was next to strip down to his shorts, then Joey. But the kicker was when Doug tore off his shirt and went sliding across the grass. “Give me that soap!” He shouted.

  Soon all six Brannings and Aaron’s brothers and sister were dancing and playing in the rain, lathering up with soap and shampoo, fighting with the suds, laughing their heads off.

  And the rain kept coming.

  “Come on, Aaron. It feels great!” Logan said.

  “Yeah, Aaron,” Kay shouted. “Don’t make us come get you.”

  He couldn’t help smiling now. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and slowly sloshed out to the grass. Before he knew it, Jeff and Logan and Doug had descended on him, soaping him up like a greased pig, tickling him and making him laugh even if he didn’t want to. Suds went
flying, hitting Kay in the face like a pie, Doug in the back of his head, and Deni right between the shoulder blades.

  They looked like the opening theme song of some TV sitcom. The perfect family, having fun and acting silly. Even the parents.

  For a good hour, it all seemed like reality.

  twenty-nine

  DOUG’S SERMON SUNDAY MORNING SEEMED TO STRIKE A CHORD with the flock he had accumulated over the past month. The group that had started in his living room had now outgrown his home, and they’d had to start setting up church at the lake. The bring-your-own-lawn-chair service had become a little more popular. Twenty families were coming now, and more joined each week. He hoped that the sound of their praise music would rise on the wind and waft across the neighborhood, luring others who needed time to worship during this dark time of their lives.

  He had never planned to be a preacher. Just ten weeks ago he’d been a jet-setting stockbroker, working the economy to his advantage. But when the lights went out and he realized how little control he really had over his life, he had felt a yearning in his soul to worship the God who did have control. And since their home church was twenty miles away, too far to make it by bike every Sunday morning, he’d felt the need to start a church of his own.

  Since then, he’d embarked on a serious study of God’s Word — a study that had sustained him through this trial and enabled him to lead his small congregation.

  He’d carefully prepared today’s sermon about helping others in need, and the group had listened earnestly, many of them glancing at the Gatlin children sitting on the front row, lined up like object lessons of the sermon itself.

  He paced as he spoke, his voice rising on the breeze. “I’ve realized after all these weeks that I can’t make the electricity come back on. I can’t make my generator come to life. I can’t make my car crank up. My cell phone will probably never work again, and my computer may be a thing of the past. The Pulses could last years. My whole career is down the tubes, since the stock market hasn’t been open in months and the banks are still closed and the economy has tanked.”

  He had their attention. They all knew of that out-of-control pain he spoke of.