A Stranger's Wish (30 page)

“Don’t push me, Marty,” Braves Cap Guy snarled.

“Put that tire iron down, you idiot.” Marty’s voice dripped condescension. “I don’t have time for your macho nonsense. We’ve got to find that girl. Besides—” There was a lengthy pause, and I could just picture them, each trying to stare the other down. “Don’t forget that I have the gun.”

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Braves Cap Guy must have blinked. I heard Marty snort derisively.

He said, “You go that way. I’m going this.”

Clarke and I stayed still until both men were some distance away. Then, bending low, we moved cautiously along the flat, shadowy roof away from our erstwhile ladder. At the far end of the building, we lay huddled in a darkness deepened by the entrance lights below. I listened in heart-stopping tension as Marty and Braves Cap Guy ran up and down the rows below us.

Dear Lord, don’t let them think to look up! Please! They’re not in the mood to be kind.

When the men stopped immediately beneath us, I squeezed my eyes shut and ducked my head. Clarke’s arm tightened around me. Once again we were afraid to breathe.

“Maybe she…got out after…all.” Braves Cap Guy was gasping, speaking only two or three words at a time, sounding as bad as Mr. Geohagan. The man needed an exercise program desperately.

“She didn’t get out.” Fury filled Marty’s voice. “I would have seen her. And she didn’t scale the fence, not with that barbed wire around the top of it. No, she’s here somewhere. There are a couple of stored RVs in the back. Look in them.”

“I already did. She’s not there.”

“Well, let’s look under them.”

And they were off.

I leaned close to Clarke’s ear. What a nice ear. And he smelled good too. “You sure called that one right,” I whispered. “If we’d stayed under that truck, they’d have found us in time.”

I felt him smile. “I have to tell you,” he whispered in my ear. “When I heard those lights break and then that shot, my heart stopped.” His voice shook at the memory. “Try not to do that to me again, okay?”

Then he kissed me, and I melted against him. Most appropriately, bells and whistles sounded, accompanying the fireworks exploding in my head.

No, not bells and whistles. It sounded more like sirens.

I pulled back. “Sirens?”

“The cops,” he said.

“Where’d they come from?”

“We called them.”

“We did?”

“Not you-and-me we but Mary Ann-and-me we. And the attendant.” He leaned over to kiss me again.

I put a hand to his chest. “Mary Ann?” A chill went down my spine. “Mary Ann?” I just bet she was blonde and cute and had an umbrella.

Below we heard shouting, running, cursing, and brilliant searchlights blazed. A shot, then two, tore the night.

Braves Cap Guy yelled, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’ll talk! I didn’t do nothing!”

“Shut up,” Marty bellowed at him. “We’ll be out by morning!” He must have turned to the cops because his next words were, “I demand a lawyer.”

“Sure, sure,” said a new voice. “You have the right to remain silent…”

The confusion below was nothing compared to the confusion I felt. My knight had come to my rescue, but he had brought along the fair Mary Ann.

That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work!

I started to get up. No more coziness on the roof for me.

“Get down here!” Clarke grabbed me none too gently and pulled me back.

I lost my balance and fell on him. Accidentally my elbow caught him in the gut. I tried to feel badly as he wheezed, “Dangerous. Bullets.”

There hadn’t been any bullets for several moments.

I rested my head on Clarke’s chest and listened to his two-timing heart beat. “How did you know to come here?” I asked in what I hoped was a cool, detached manner.

“I went to the Zooks,” he said, “and Mary told us you might be here. We arrived just as the attendant was leaving. He told us you and your two friends were in the garage at the end of the third line. As soon as he said ‘friends,’ I was worried. You’ve had too many strange things happening to you recently. ‘Is one of them wearing a baseball cap?’ I asked. ‘Yeah, now that you mention it,’ the attendant said. ‘A Braves cap.’ And then the lights were broken. We heard them shatter. I told Mary Ann and the attendant to call the cops, and I took off to see if you were all right. When the shot was fired, I…”

“I was doing okay,” I said with a distinct lack of appreciation for his emotional turmoil and his gracious rescue effort.

“That you were,” he agreed magnanimously, kissing me on the top of my head.

Suddenly we noticed that it was quiet below.

A woman’s voice rang out. “Clarke! Jon Clarke! Where are you?”

“Mary Ann,” he told me needlessly.

“Oh, goody,” I said. “I’m so glad.”

He didn’t even hear my sarcasm.

We got to our feet and leaned over the roof. We watched as people in blue scurried up and down the rows, looking strangely out of perspective. Red and blue lights flashed, and a pair of men in handcuffs were being put in a police car. The attendant and a blonde stood off to the side, looking worried. She was wringing her lovely hands while the attendant patted her on the back to comfort her.

“Up here!” Clarke yelled. “Up here!”

I was vaguely aware of a ladder being placed against the building, vaguely aware of climbing down it. All I could see was the little curly-haired blonde whose face lit up when she saw Clarke in one piece. She pointed and jumped up and down and clapped her hands, and I hated myself for my jealousy.

“I was so worried about you!” she shouted as she rushed forward. She threw her arms around Clarke as soon as his feet hit the ground. She kissed him with obvious affection, looking far more lovely than worried.

I didn’t even want to think about what I looked like, rolling around on the ground under trucks, lying on dirty roofs. Some comparisons are too painful.

“Mary Ann, I want you to meet Kristie.” Clarke smiled from one of us to the other.

Mary Ann smiled charmingly at me. “I’m so glad to meet you!”

I tried to smile back. I wondered if I looked as pickled as I felt.

“Excuse me, Miss Matthews, but we need to speak with you a few minutes.” It was one of the policemen, saving me before I thoroughly disgraced myself by saying what I was thinking or by bursting into tears. He took my arm and led me gently but firmly to his car.

I looked back over my shoulder at Clarke and shrugged. I hoped I looked what-can-you-do? In reality I felt so relieved to be out of a situation I wasn’t certain I could handle that I wanted to hug the cop.

“Just sit right down and tell me what happened here tonight,” he said briskly. Brisk was good. I could deal with brisk. It was kindness and sympathy I didn’t think I could handle.

Another officer began talking to Clarke and Mary Ann and the attendant. Then I heard Mary Ann say, “But if we don’t leave now, Clarke, we’ll miss our plane.” She turned to the officer they had been talking to. “I haven’t been home in over a year, and I can’t wait for us to get there!”

Us. How delightful.

“Kristie,” Clarke called as Mary Ann pulled on his arm.

I smiled sweetly at him and turned my back, giving my full attention to my interview. It was preferable to murdering him and/or Mary Ann in full view of the authorities.

20

I
drove to Holiday House on my way home from school the next day, Wednesday. I walked up the front walk past the great copper beech with its masses of golden leaves gracefully bending to touch the ground. Clusters of lavender, crimson, and bronze chrysanthemums brightened the front porch and sat in brass pots in the lobby. Heavy brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the green-and-wine upholstered furniture and oriental rugs.

Holiday House was a beautiful place. When the time came for me to go to a care facility, I sure wouldn’t mind coming here. If I could ever afford it. I couldn’t begin to imagine how expensive it was, especially for someone with a private room like Mr. Geohagan.

I found him sitting in bed surrounded by reams of paper.

“Kristie!” he said as soon as he saw me. “Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they? And the police treated you with respect? The press didn’t bother you?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. Not happy. Not excited about life. Not ever planning to laugh again. But also not physically harmed. Fine.

“The police told me what happened when they brought me my material this morning.” He laid a protective hand on the stack of innocent-looking papers resting on his stomach.

I stared somewhat resentfully at the papers. What was in them that made those unknown men take such extreme action? And what could possibly be worth putting me in such jeopardy not just last night but several times?

Mr. Geohagan saw me staring at them and misunderstood. “These aren’t the originals,” he said. “They’re copies. The police need the originals for evidence against those guys. They said you made a great ruckus until they promised to deliver copies to me.” He grinned at me. “I’m proud of you. I just wish I’d seen you in action.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t seen me last night. I had behaved quite badly. I’d been upset about Clarke—massive understatement—and I focused all that distress on the poor policeman who had to deal with me. I think I even cried a bit over how important it was to get those papers to the poor and dying man to whom they belonged.

“He was counting on me,” I had said with exaggerated histrionics. “Please don’t let it look like I’ve disappointed him. I couldn’t stand that! He has no one else in the whole world!”

In retrospect it was enough to make me gag.

Mr. Geohagan took my hand in his thin, dry one. He patted me gently. “I spent the last couple of days worrying about you,” he said. “First there was that louse, What’s-his-name, and then those terrible men last night!”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. I tried to smile reassuringly, but I gave up the effort. “Eventually, anyway. I’m sad right now, but I’m strong, you know. I certainly don’t plan to do anything like Cathleen, either on purpose or accidentally, if that concerns you. I plan to depend on God to help me get through it all.”

Some of Mr. Geohagan’s solicitude faded.

“Don’t go getting mad at the mere mention of God,” I said. “You look like a thundercloud trying to find the energy to crack the skies open.”

“That bad?”

I nodded. “Worse. Almost as bad as me.”

We sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

Finally I said, “Well, I got your papers for you. Did you read the Gospel of John for me?”

“Believe it or not, I did. It was kind of interesting.”

I think I hid my surprise. “How was it interesting?”

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “I wasn’t aware that Jesus was so outspoken about Himself. ‘I’m the Bread of Life.’ ‘I’m the Lamb of God.’ ‘I’m the only way to God.’ I thought men had made all those things up because they wanted them to be true. Of course, maybe they still did. After all, Jesus didn’t write the book of John. John could say anything he wanted.”

I nodded. “Sure, John or others could have made those things up, but would they then die for things they knew were lies?”

“Maybe they didn’t lie. Maybe they told the truth as they knew it. Maybe Jesus lied,” the old man said. “Maybe He’s no more God than the nut on the corner.”

“Could be,” I agreed. “But would people die for someone who was a liar or nut? Or live for one, either?”

“People are notoriously gullible. There’s always some group following some demented guru somewhere.”

“True. But those cults always die out, sometimes by their own hand. We’re talking about millions of people over a period of two thousand years when we talk about all those who have followed Jesus.”

He looked at me. “You obviously think He was telling the truth.”

“I do.”

He pulled a piece of paper off one of the piles on his bed and turned his attention ostentatiously to it. “I’m not so sure myself. Maybe I’m just not as trusting as you.” He grabbed a second sheet of paper. “I need to think about it some more.”

I recognized the finality in his tone. There would be no more talk about God today. That was all right. I would allow him to set the pace. It wasn’t my job to change his heart, just to help him consider. I reached in my new handbag for a paperback and settled back to read as though I still had the ability to concentrate. Hah! All I saw when I looked at the page was a beautiful blonde with her arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck.

Oh, Lord! How did this happen? How did I get so emotionally involved so quickly?

I turned a page so Mr. Geohagan would think I really was reading.

How had I misunderstood Clarke so? Was I really that stupid? That gullible? My father should be thanking his lucky stars that I hadn’t gone into the law. Someone as foolish as I was would have made a rotten attorney.

There was a knock on the door, and a young man with the strangest shape I’d ever seen entered. His legs seemed to begin under his arm pits, and he looked as though he had no chest. I studied him, wondering where he kept his heart and lungs and other thoracic items, happy to think about something besides my own misery.

He nodded politely at me but turned his attention to Mr. Geohagan. “I think you wanted to see me?”

“Ah. Yes, yes, yes. Come in. Come in.” Such enthusiasm made me study the unusual man even more.

Looking hopeful, the strangely shaped man oozed to the side of the bed without seeming to move, an impressive accomplishment considering that he was all legs.

“Kristie, I don’t mean to be impolite, but I must talk to this young man for a while,” Mr. Geohagan said, smiling apologetically.

“I understand.” I got quickly to my feet and waved a friendly farewell. “I’ll see you later.”

I left Holiday House and drove home, back into all the chaos and excitement of Ruth’s wedding. Just what I needed. I sighed as I climbed out of my car.

What ironic timing, Lord. My world’s falling apart while Ruth is building hers
.
I’m glad for her. I really am. I want her and Isaiah to be as happy as any couple ever was. But does everything have to be so hard for me right now? It hardly seems fair.