“What?”
“That there’s nothing we can do about the past. The past is over. We can’t go back and fix it. We can only accept what it was. And what it wasn’t.”
She nodded. “You’re right—blown careers, divorces, opportunities that we missed or didn’t handle quite right. It’s so easy to live every day dwelling on our mistakes that we eat up the now.”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding, thinking. “And the now is our only opportunity to be aware—to change. We only have today, and hopefully tomorrow. And we need to do the right things—do the right things not just for ourselves but for those around us.”
She studied him again. Was he even the same person anymore? “What was it, Zach? The thing in your past? Can you tell me?”
Zach pulled the car over onto the left shoulder of the road and rolled into some high weeds. They were in the middle of nowhere. She thought he was just wanting to focus before he told her what it was.
He put the car in park and turned off the engine. “You of all people deserve an explanation.”
“An explanation for what?” Kaitlyn asked.
“For the way I was,” he said. “And I figured while we were here, we could fix something up a little bit, if you don’t mind.”
Here? Kaitlyn leaned across the front seat to look out the driver’s side window. “A cemetery?”
“C’mon,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. “There’s something I need to show you.”
THIRTY-FOUR
For many, it was almost too loud at The Pilot Inn. Not for Jim.
The sound of it all, the sight of it all—he loved every second of it.
In the diner there were older couples, younger couples, some of their children, and what seemed to be quite a few of their children’s children. They laughed, smiled, and mouthed words over small wicker baskets of french fries, chicken strips, hamburgers, and clear plastic pitchers of different-colored sodas.
Returning from the restroom, he saw that the areas around the pool tables, dartboards, and jukebox were primarily clusters of college-age kids and other twentysomethings who wielded single bottles of beer or mixed drinks. His smile weakened as he looked up at the bar and the backs of the patrons who had to be there— the regulars. These were the ones who gave up their lives to an alternative higher power. Lord, help them, he thought, glancing up at the faded lights along the mirror behind the bar, mercifully dimming the reflections of the ghosts who hopelessly stared back at it.
Carla had been one of them. A shiver ran down his back, thinking of her here and what it had driven her to— “Man, we suck!” someone yelled in a hoarse voice behind him.
Jim turned around and watched a replay of the pass that had put the Detroit Lions down fourteen to zero only five minutes into the game. He looked up at the TV. It wasn’t the one-handed catch that amazed him. Look at the size of that television. And then he walked under it and through the swing doors, returning to the dining room.
“Isn’t this fun, James?” Shirley said simply, taking his hand as he sat down beside her again. “What are you looking at?”
“Everything,” he said, looking around at the table full of loved ones as well as those beyond them. “Absolutely everything.”
“Do you want to say grace?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, surprised he hadn’t noticed the food had arrived in his absence. “Shall we give thanks?” He lifted his hands. Shirley took his left hand again, and Macey took his right. The rest of the table followed suit, and they all dropped their heads.
After church, they had anonymously dropped off four carloads of food, clothing, and a generous envelope to Mick Solack’s food bank over in Rockwood and now sat with hot burgers and chicken fingers awaiting them all.
Only Macey, Shirley, Brooke, and Kenneth could hear him saying the prayer in the bustling diner, but it didn’t matter. Every one of them felt it, Jim believed. Down at the far end, Ian, Carla, Alex, and Charlie looked up a moment after they’d said their amens.
We’re so blessed, Lord, he thought. So blessed. Thank you, Lord. Whatever comes, thank you for this day.
“QUIT PATRONIZING ME,” MACEY SAID PLAYFULLY. JIM looked to his right over Macey’s shoulder at Kenneth. The carpenter wasn’t talking. He was nodding his head and listening to the young doctor. Macey had told Jim that she was going to ask Kenneth some interesting questions; apparently, she’d already started.
“What?” Kenneth said. “You asked me how I fixed the cross, and I told you.”
Macey rocked in her seat. “I need a better answer than ‘God-given ability.’”
“What else would I need?” he asked. “It seems like you’ve been given an ability in your line of work.”
“I studied to learn what I do,” Macey said. “I think what you did was a miracle.”
Kenneth threw his hands up. “It was.”
“Will you please stop?” Macey said. “It’s driving me crazy how that cross went up so fast.”
“Will I please stop?” Kenneth said, repeating her question and nudging her with his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”
Macey nudged back. “Seriously, Kenneth, you seem to be at the center of the miracle fest. Of everything that is good.”
“That’s because I am—”
“Oh my goodness!” a smoke-rasped voice barked from only a few feet inside the front door. Tim Shempner had just entered the diner with a couple of drunken buddies at his side. “Lookie, lookie here. Look who is back! The Pilot bimbo and her band of Coke-drinking Jesus freaks!” He took a step forward. “Where is the big retard today?”
Jim froze. Kathy and her baseball bat were off for the day, so Shempner had dared to return.
The diner quieted as Shempner walked up behind Carla and tugged sharply at the back of her hair. He looked like he’d been up all night and reeked of booze and sour body odor. He and his friends slid into an empty booth, right behind Carla.
“Where’s the waitress?” he shouted. “We need some menus!”
Jim pulled back his seat to stand up and approach the drunken man, but Kenneth put his hand on his shoulder, suggesting he stay put.
Carla turned around and faced Shempner with a confidence and sense of peace that Jim had never seen in her before. “Why do you have to be this way? Stay and eat, but remember this is the family side of The Pilot Inn . . . not the bar.”
“Shut up,” Shempner said, belching. “I don’t need your permission for anything.”
A waitress tentatively came over and handed three menus to the guys. She took their order for drinks and hurried off to the kitchen.
Carla turned around with a heavy sigh and fiddled with a french fry as Shempner and his buddies hunched together, talking.
Shempner rose and leaned over Carla’s shoulder, took a fry, and popped it into his mouth, giving the rest of the table an insolent look.
“Tim, please.”
“Please what?” he said, taking another fry.
“Please leave us alone.”
“And if I don’t?” he sneered, leaning down and pushing her hair over her shoulder, looking at her neck like he wanted to kiss it. “Kathy isn’t here to save you today!”
“She doesn’t have to be here to save me,” Carla said, brushing aside his hand. “Now I’m going to ask you nicely. Please stop.”
“Pleeeaaase . . . pleeeeaaaase,” Shempner whined, mocking Carla. “I’ll make you say—”
“That’s enough!” someone yelled.
Jim looked up. It was Ian.
He was about five feet from Shempner. Charlie and Alex had followed him back from the video games and were standing right behind him.
“And you are?” Shempner asked.
“I’m Ian Tobias. And I think you’re leaving.”
“Only after I kick your butt!” Shempner ground out, stepping toward him.
“I love getting my butt kicked,” Ian said, a confident smile creasing his lips. “Let’s go outside.”
Shem
pner paused. He clearly heard the cackle and then the muted sound of laughter to his left. His buddies were making fun of him. He still hesitated.
“That’s what I thought,” Ian said quietly. “Such a big man with women. But not so ready to take on another man. Now apologize to Carla and to everyone at our table. No. Make that the whole diner.” He turned to pick up Alex.
Shempner grinned. It was the opening he needed. He lunged forward and kicked Ian’s back. Ian’s head snapped back and his arms fanned out, sending him sprawling helplessly forward. His arm hit Alex’s chest, and the boy went flying backward.
“No!” Brooke screamed, jumping up from the other side of the table.
Panic flooded across Charlie’s face. He quickly dropped to a knee and put his hand behind Alex’s head, who was gasping for the air that had just been knocked out of him.
Ian brought himself to one knee as Macey and Carla raced to Alex’s side opposite Charlie. “We’ve got him now, Charlie,” Macey said. “We’ll help him. Don’t worry.” Charlie rose and backed away.
“Look at my finger, Alex,” Macey said, calmly holding her hand up in front of his face to check his eyes. “Look at my finger. Look right here.”
“Alex?” Carla said.
“He’s all right,” Macey said, sensing pressure from the circle of bystanders that had formed around them. She pulled the top of Alex’s shirt back down. “The port’s okay.”
“Please,” Jim said, trying to create some space. People were spilling over from the bar side to gather around. “Please, friends, please. She’s a doctor. Pull back.”
“He’s going to kill him!” a young woman yelled. “Help!”
“Somebody do something!” another voice cried.
“James!” Shirley shouted from behind him. “James!”
Jim turned from Alex and looked at the center of yet another circle that had formed. It was something he’d never imagined. No.
“Charlie!” he yelled, working his way quickly through the crowd to the edge of the other circle. “Charlie, no!”
Charlie’s lips were coiled back and his teeth were gritted. His exhales were not breaths, but intermittent growls that were clearly frightening people. His arms were perfectly straight in front of him and vibrated only with the hopeless thrashing of the weight they held.
Charlie had Tim Shempner by the throat.
Shempner’s boots kicked and dangled helplessly in the air as Charlie served as both executioner and gallows. Shempner clawed at Charlie’s hands until they bled, desperately seeking release.
“No, son!” Jim said. “Charlie, no!”
Shempner’s face became a light shade of purple as Charlie lifted him higher into the air.
“Charlie!” Jim yelled again, reaching up and pulling down on Charlie’s arm. He could see the veins pulsing in his son’s hands and forearms, as well as his temples.
“Alex is okay!” Shirley yelled, coming to his other side. “Look, Charlie! Look!”
“Alex is okay!” Jim echoed, still pulling on Charlie’s closest arm with all his weight, desperate now. Please, Lord, don’t let him kill him. Please, Lord . . .
Charlie looked down at his father, then at his mother, and then back toward where Alex was. Alex was now on his feet, standing between Ian and Brooke. Carla handed Alex his ball cap, and Alex put it back on. Alex then rubbed the tears from his eyes and shook his head in disapproval at Charlie.
Charlie stared back at Shempner, giving him a message that words could never say. Shempner’s hands dropped to his sides, and he was slobbering at the corners of his mouth when Kenneth reached up and took Charlie by the wrist.
“It’s okay, Charlie,” the carpenter said. Charlie immediately let go, and Shempner fell to the floor like a rag, bringing his own hands to his throat and gasping for air.
“Way to kick his butt, big man!” somebody yelled.
“Please, no,” Jim said, holding up his hands. “Please.”
Charlie turned toward Alex, and everybody got out of his way. He walked over and Alex held out his arms for a hug. Charlie picked him up, and Alex rested his head on his shoulder. Charlie lowered his cheek to the top of Alex’s head, and they both closed their eyes as if they were equally glad it was over.
MACEY AND KENNETH SAT BACK AT THE TABLE. SHE realized her hands were trembling when she reached for her glass of water. “Unreal, huh?” she said to him.
“Looked pretty real to me,” Kenneth said calmly. “Nice work with Alex.”
“He’s lucky. Very lucky.”
“What if he wasn’t?” Kenneth asked, taking a sip of his own water as everyone began to return to their own tables.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Macey asked.
“What if you couldn’t help him?”
“I don’t know,” Macey said, frowning. “What kind of question is that?”
“What if your best wasn’t good enough, Macey Lewis? What would you do?”
“Are you messing with me again?”
“I wasn’t messing with you before,” Kenneth said. “I thought maybe you should think about that.”
Macey squinted and tilted her head. “Don’t you think that’s kind of an odd thing to say?”
“No, Macey,” Kenneth said. He stood and walked around the other side of the table. “Kaitlyn saying I took a magic carpet to visit Mary Springsted is an odd thing to say.”
Macey glanced up at him. “What did you just say? Can you say that again?”
He put his palms flat on the table and smiled. “I think you heard me.”
“But there is no way you could have possibly . . .” Macey stopped and then just stared, stone-faced, as the carpenter turned and walked out the door.
THIRTY-FIVE
Macey stepped into the consultation room, and the first thing she saw was Ian, who was confidently balancing Alex on his left knee. Like father, like son—the two of them wore matching smiles that reminded her of a ventriloquist act. She was pretty sure Ian would make up for his unknowing absence in Alex’s life. He already had, in an important way.
“Good morning, guys,” Macey said. She shook Brooke’s hand and then Ian’s. “How is your back feeling?”
Ian reached his hand around his side and tapped it. “It only took three days, but it’s like new.”
Macey tilted her head and gave him a look that said she knew better. “That was quite a kick you took. Are you pressing charges?”
“Nah,” Ian said. “Everything turned out all right. I think Tim Shempner has enough problems already. And if I press charges, he might retaliate by pressing charges against Charlie.”
“I don’t know,” Macey said, lifting a copy of Highlights off a seat before sitting down. “Carla should do something about that guy. He’s clearly dangerous.”
“She did,” Brooke said. “He can’t come within five hundred feet of her.”
“She got a restraining order?”
“Yeah,” Brooke said. “Thank God.”
Macey agreed. “That may be in everyone’s best interest for now—particularly until he gets the help he obviously needs.”
Ian looked at Brooke in a way that said he was more than okay with the outcome. “Maybe what he most needs is Charlie’s kind of help.”
“Yeah,” Alex said attentively. “Charlie kicked his butt, huh?”
“Alex!” Brooke said.
Ian swallowed a grin and tapped on Alex’s baseball cap. “Hey, you.”
Alex looked up at his father. “That’s what that man said at—”
“We don’t talk that way, partner.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Brooke smiled at Macey, who winked back at her. The doctor figured it was probably the six hundredth time that Alex had used the word dad in just under a week. And those were only the ones she was around to hear.
Macey leaned forward in her chair and put her elbows on her knees. “And how about you, Mr. Alex? How’re you feeling?”
“I’m pretty good,”
Alex said.
She could see that he appeared a little more drawn than usual. Despite his upbeat tone, he was a bit pale—almost peaked. “It’s okay if you’re not feeling well. You can tell me.”
“I’m a little sleepy sometimes,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Macey assured him.
“He hasn’t been himself the last couple of days,” Brooke said. “He also threw up last night.”
Macey nodded, not surprised, and said, “I have some news for you guys.”
“Lay it on us,” Ian said, wrapping his arms around Alex.
“We already have Alex’s results back from today. We also have the parental blood test results back.”
“Okay,” Ian and Brooke said together.
“First,” Macey said, “Alex’s white blood cell count came down, which is encouraging. So we will go ahead today with the same regimen.” She smiled at Ian. “And second, even though it’s extremely rare, and we still have to do a few more tests, we believe we have a marrow match for Alex. It’s also convenient that this person is local—really local.”
“Kind of like you’re-lookin’-at-him local?” Ian asked calmly, his eyebrows slowly bunching together.
“Are you serious?” Brooke said, her mouth dropping open.
“Yes,” Macey said. “Congratulations.”
“That’s good news for us, partner,” Ian said, pulling down on the bill of Alex’s cap, who quickly readjusted it.
“Yes, it is,” Macey said. “We are extremely fortunate to have you as a potential match. Having a marrow transplant as an option is an incredible advantage. If needed, that is.”
“Thank you, God!” Brooke said, squeezing her knees together and looking thankfully at the ceiling. “Thank you, God. Thank you, God.”
“Thank you, God,” Ian repeated. He lowered his chin to the top of Alex’s head and met eyes with the doctor. She guessed that he was thinking about the last five—almost six—years, and about all the gifts he’d never given Alex.