Mammoth Secrets (22 page)

“I'm going in.” Lilah's hand hesitated on the door handle.

“Wait.” Jake captured her hand, thumbed a circle caress on the back. “I just wanted to say thanks. For not giving up on me. Not yet.”

“I'm not giving up on you.” She blinked. “I'm just telling you I've got emotional baggage. Like enough to travel around the world without doing laundry. Twice.”

“You and me both, kiddo.” He drew her close, kissed those bow lips. Inhaled her subtle strength, her silent warmth, until at last, she stopped fighting him. She fit tight in his arms, pressed against him, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Their kiss, sweet, the need behind it grew clear. He focused on that and let the rest fall where it may. “Don't let me fool you. I've got no idea what I'm doing.”

“And yet, you keep doing it.” She opened her door and slid out.

He remained in the truck cab with eyes closed, reviewing the day's events with amazement. Seeing God so visibly at work mentally brought him to his knees. Every pastor should go through crisis, to see the strange beauty of coincidence play out, how God lifted ordinary people to angel status by helping each other, by just being there to offer a shoulder, a smile, make someone laugh, or help them stop hurting, begin to heal. A ragtag quintet of helping hands put together, seemingly for the sole purpose of finding and freeing the Steadmans from their own shelter.

His mind drifted to the plains of Thayer now lay to waste alongside the remains of Barn Hollow. They'd followed the scar of that tornado from the Steadman place through Thayer, lending help where they could, prayers where they could not.

Inside the restaurant, the dusty group edged into an empty booth, all tables and the seven stools at the counter full of customers. Four lifetime friends, high school buddies and twin sisters who had probably been at that same diner for sodas and fries after every hometown Friday night football game.

Folks shuffled into the diner, shell shocked, and lined the waiting area until a booth or table opened up.

Where do I fit in with this, Lord? Will I always be the one on the outside, looking in?

A muffled tone from the glove box brought him to blink. Cellphone. He'd thrown it in there—when? Couldn't even think the last time he'd made a call on it. Amazing it was still charged at all. Caller ID read Hot Springs Regional Ministries, the head office.

“Dad?”

“Jake!” Margaret's voice cannon-blasted across the miles. “Are you OK? I asked your dad if I could call—I hope that's all right.” She clipped at the end. He could almost see her manicured fingernails rat-a-tatting on the cherry wood desk of her office.

“We're still here. If that's what he's wondering.”

“Well, of course he's concerned—”

“Then, put me through.” A breath, then silence as she transferred the call. Calming, wordless hold music chimed in his ear. Jake inhaled, no more words left to fight her, but no forgiveness in his heart, either.

“Son?”

The phone
booped
its battery level warning.

“Better hurry, Pop.” He eyed the red bar. “Phone's dying.”

“We saw the news.” His father's pastor-tone soothed. Just like it sounded over the radio. He knew the warmth could fire to brimstone just as easily. “They're saying you got hit hard.”

“Class four. I hear it could've been much wo-rse.” Jake cringed through the crack in his voice. Suddenly, he was the little boy with the black eye who'd broken Timmy Ryan's nose on the playground. The star of the baseball team who'd struck out at the state finals. The grown man telling his father—the head of the largest church in the southland—that his marriage was at an end. And the endless well of disappointment in his famous father's pale, blue eyes.

“Hold it together, son—with the storms up and down the whole eastern seaboard, it's making folks panic a bit. We need to be a rock, son. We need to be His rock.”

“I know. Dad, I—”

“I'm sending a news crew out to get your story. Could do wonders for the ministry, son. For the church.”

“No!” Jake curled his fist around the phone. “These folks don't know who I am. I won't capitalize on their pain, Dad. Not like last time.”

“We did more good than harm, Jake, and you know it.”

Across the miles, Jake knew they thought of the same thing. The San Diego fires. Parents who'd lost a daughter to the blaze, his shame of not knowing what to say…his anger at the destruction, unable to offer God's comfort to ones who'd lost everything. And the unspoken, bitter disappointment in his father's steady gaze.

His father bridged the gap first, in his low, pastoral tone. “It's your chance, son. And, maybe enough now to bring you home.”

Silence dragged as Jake's gut churned with his father's dangling proposition. “These people don't need the media. They're hurting…they're—Dad?”

Silence.

The phone was a brick in his hand, worthless as a stone skipped on the river.

Moments later, a subtle knock startled him out of his quandary. “Pastor Gibb?”

Jake blinked into the round, wind-weary face of Tom Steadman. He rolled down his window with a squeal of gears. “Tom!”

Hand to Jake's shoulder, his contractor smiled. “We needed somewhere to go for the night. We're headed down to the bed and breakfast and saw the lights on at the kitchen.”

“No dinner at the mayor's B&B,” Earnestine chuckled.

“Join us?” Tom opened the door, apparently not one to take no for an answer.

Jake stepped out, and amazed by the swiftness of the Lord's answer, followed them into the restaurant.

 

 

 

 

30

 

Lilah woke before her 5 AM alarm. Scents of brewing coffee wafted to her room and roused her better than a screeching clock ever could.

Yesterday was a memory. The gray light of the storm cellar with Jake. Watching as he ministered to the Steadmans, to the people of Thayer, just by being there. He offered the strength of his back or the steadiness of his shoulder when someone needed it most. Today, they'd have to investigate the fairgrounds and see how bad things really were.

Last night, she'd served not just the crowd from Mammoth, but the folks from Thayer and the traveling carnival workers. All packed together under the roof of Earl's Kitchen, in some kind of misfit family driven together by the chaos of the storm.

There was that white-haired man, Mr. Randall, the one the carnies called “boss.” A shiver raced up her spine. His daughter, with the dark, exotic eyes, makeup and clothes that aged her well beyond her years, knew she had the high school boys' full attention. To drag a kid from town to town, with no real home, no real school, or friends. What sort of life was that?

Lilah rubbed her eyes.

Oh, to be young, with no regard for what came before or worries about what comes next.

Her mind drifted to the finalized divorce papers in her dresser drawer. Her do-over. In her naiveté, she'd mistaken Ryan's secretive nature for brooding interest. She'd never have guessed in a million years that his deep, dark eyes could flash with such ferocity. Such brutal anger. That his palm could hurt that much when slapped across her cheek, or the sound it made, like firecrackers, as it ricocheted in her ears.

And her, ashamed to go home. Scared to leave him. Not until Eden needed her did she find courage to go. If only she'd known what Eden was up against in running the restaurant, ministering to Nana and Papaw—she would have come back ages ago.

Now, her sister's soft snores came through the cracked door. For the first time since they were children, she and her sister finally were back on solid ground.

The ringing phone startled her up from her nest of blankets. Lilah jammed her feet in slippers and headed out into the kitchen. She blinked at the caller ID and shuddered. Not possible. Her hand lifted it to a numb ear. “Hello?”

“You all right?” Ryan's voice grated every nerve. “I just saw on the news.”

“We're fine.” Her voice rang hollow. Flat. She wrapped her hand tighter around the receiver.

“CNN's reporting from Thatcher. That's close to your grandparent's place, right?”

“Thayer.” Hang up. Just hang up. Instead, she poured a cup of coffee. “We're fine.”

“Good.” Ryan's worried tone switched to relief. As if he really cared. Always with a plan. Always an angle. “Lilah...listen. I know it's over, but I need you to do something.”

“What?” The phone went hot in her hand.

He cleared his throat. “I got a call this morning. Word got out where you are…This could be a press opportunity for our restaurant.”

“You mean your restaurant. I've got my own place now.” She grasped the counter's edge to keep her knees from buckling.

“If you want to call that hole of your grandfather's a restaurant.” He snorted, all pretense of caring for her safety, gone in a snap. This was the Ryan she'd left. “Now, look. You owe me big for agreeing to your terms. I'm having a reporter contact you. I need you to say—”

The force of her fury no longer containable, she interrupted him. “Still capitalizing on other people's anguish? Don't call me again. It's done. I'm not your punching bag anymore.” She slammed the receiver down as she pushed the button to end the call. Shuddering, Lilah inhaled, exhaled her fury, her anxiety, her panic the same way that she had driven across the country. Every mile, she'd felt the connection between her and the idiot she'd tied her soul to stretch like a rubber band, and finally it snapped. Lilah sank her head in her hands with a sob. All the pain raced to the surface. His need to hurt her breeched even the dissolution of their marriage, as if he wanted to reach out and strangle her from two thousand miles away. Her emotions ran the gamut, but fear won the race with icy persistence. She sank to the floor, cradling head in her hands.

Have courage.

Calm swept over her. Shuddering wonder raced across her shoulders as she stood. Whether moved by the still, small voice in her head, the Holy Spirit, or the ghost of her mother speaking from beyond the grave, she realized that what was done was done. She was finally free.

“Only one person can make you that crazy,” Eden's sleep-slurred voice warned from the doorway. Her hair mussed from slumber, she padded straight for the coffee pot, filled a mug full of brew, poured a generous dash of half-and-half. “How'd he get your number?”

“Ryan? Nothing a computer and twelve bucks can't buy you. He's overly concerned for my well-being.” Lilah snorted. “Wanted some free advertising.”

“Good riddance. You don't need him. Never did.” Eden's mug sloshed java onto the counter, and she wrapped her sister in a warm embrace. She pushed back and gave a slight rub to the center of Lilah's eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

“Quit your frowning, you're making lines.” She massaged a small circle, kissed her as only a sister can, smack between the eyes, and then mopped up the counter spill. “No sense starting Botox before you reach forty. Don't think the pastor would want a wife wearing a nest full of wrinkles around her face.”

Lilah blinked at her reflection in the oven chrome. “You marrying me off again already? You just helped me get divorced.”

“Yeah, maybe I should take my own advice.” Eden hopped on the kitchen counter and lifted her mug. “Did I mention what happened yesterday after you left? My soldier debacle?” Eden filled Lilah in on the gory details. “Here's to hoping they made it to Branson before the storm hit.” She breathed a sigh. “Not that I'm gonna go calling. Can you believe Eli? He suggested I go along for the ride! As if that would have made it all one big happy how do you do.”

“Can't say I blame him. You're a hot ticket.” Lilah hopped up on the counter, settled herself next to Eden. “Luke seems to have forgiven you.”

“Luke.” Eden stared into her mug, as if the swirl of cream held the answers she sought. “Like forgiveness is his to dole out in the first place.”

“He's a good man.” Lilah squeezed her sister's arm, warm and reassuring.

“Too good.” Eden sniffed and stared out the window. The river flowed its constant current over rocks and reeds. “I don't deserve him, so I kicked him to the curb. For his own good.”

“Like I should with Jake.” Lilah sighed.

They watched a light come on and fill the front window of the pastor's house. His shadow bustled about against the closed curtain in his own morning routine. The first day of the Revival.

“He's not too good.” Eden slurped her mug empty. “Just enough tarnish to spark your interest, I'd reckon.”

“He's not tarnished.” Lilah hopped down. “Just a bit rough around the edges. Doesn't matter, anyway. I'm not preacher-wife material, Edie. God's truth. Don't you ever just get the feeling we're supposed to be alone right now?” Lilah pulled her hair back into a tail and leaned shoulder to her sister's. “Just the two of us?”

Eden's silence was answer enough.

Maybe so.

Or maybe, just maybe, they'd finally made a perfect cast and hooked their limit.

 

 

 

 

31

 

Lilah followed at a respectable distance as Jake surveyed the Revival site damage. The tent rental company declared a total loss.

Shoulders stooped, his hands dragged through hair of fire as he picked his way through the wreckage. His heart obviously as heavy as the tent's center pole, now wedged between a stand of oak trees. The old school house collapsed, into a dangerous game of pickup sticks. How could this hilltop be devastated, while so much of the carnival below remained intact?

She sat on a boulder, rubbing the hole in her belly. This was God, destroying the very structure they'd built to honor Him. This was the fire and brimstone Savior drilled into her head as a child. This was the fierce, unforgiving Lord who reached out and smashed lives just because He could, like some sort of obscene puppet master. Lilah closed her eyes and faced the wind, imagining the ferocity of the storm that could shred this spot into so much chaos.